ELI      SHEPPERD 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


nutation  J5>oujg;3 


000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 


AIRV     LILY&     SHADDER!" 


xo  nge 


FOR     MY     LADY'S     BANJO 

And  Other  Negro  Lyrics  ^f  Monologues 

O00O000000000000000000000000OO0O0O00000000000O00000000000000000000 

By   ELI    SHEPPERD 

With  Pictures  from  Life  by  J.  W.   OTTS 

O00000000000000000000000000000000000O0000O00000000000O000OOO000000 


©09000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

NEW    TORK     •     R.     H.     RUSSELL 
PUBLISHER    •   Nineteen   Hundred  and  One 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  /£>£/,  by 
ROBERT    HOWARD   RUSSELL 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS     .     JOHN    WILSON 
AND      SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,     U.   S.   A. 


Co 

WHO   WAS   ONE   OF   THE   NOBLEST   TYPES  OF  THE   OLD   SOUTH,   AND 

WHO    BORE    FORCEFUL    PART    WITH    THE    HEROIC 

UPBU1LDERS    OF    THE    NEW 


Table  of  Contents 

©000000000O00OG00O0000000O030G0©O0OO©Q0©©00e0000OOOOOO00O0OOO0O000 

PAGE 

SONGS  FOR  MY  LADY'S  BANJO 4  9 

UNCLE   AARON'S   GREETING 42 

APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES      .      .     . 52 

HOG   KILLIN'   TIMES  IN   DIXIE  LAND 70 

THE   PASSING  OF   MAMMY        94 

DE  SIGHT  OF   UNC'  SOL 103 

Hymns  of  the  Black  Belt 

DARK  ARE  THE  CHURCHES  THAT  DOT  THE   BLACK  BELT  .  111 

HYMN  OF  THE   DEAD 112 

SINGIN'  ON   BETHLEHEM  ROAD 114 

HYMN  OF   REPENTANCE 117 

SONG  OF   THE   LITTLE   CHILDREN      .      . 118 

WARNIN'   HYMN 119 

SONG  OF  THE  STORM      .     .     . 121 

A   MEETIN'   CHANT 122 

WHO  BUILT  THE  ARK? .123 

SONG  OF  THE   SEEKER .     .  124 

A   SPIRITUELLE 126 

A  HYMN  CHUNE  ..............  127 

MEMBER'S  HYMN       .............  128 

7 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

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PAGE 

HYMN  OF  REJOICING 132 

WHO'LL  BE  READY? 133 

HYMN  OF  THE  WINDS 134 

SONG  OF  THE  SEA 135 

THE  WORLD'S  HYMN 137 

HYMN  OF  SAFETY 139 

HYMN  OF  FREEDOM 140 

THE  MOURNER'S   HYMN      .           „  141 

THE  SOMEDAY  HYMN     ...                ,                      .....  142 

THE  ENDLESS  CHANT ,           .  145 

HYMN  OF  TIME    .......                                .  146 

THE   HAPPY  HYMN        .                      .           ......  150 


Plantation    Songs 

G303003000003030000333003033333333333333333O0000390O30330300000000 


for 


'si  Banjo 


0000000000000000 


^T^AKE  you  this  tinkling  instrument, 

-^-        Strung  up  with  gay  and  mad  intent. 
Strum  it  with  dainty  finger-tips  — 
It  is  a  jester  full  of  quips  — 

This  gay  banjo. 

To  the  most  sentimental  sigh 
With  tittering  tones  it  will  reply, 
And  only  laughter  need  expect 
The  answer  that  it  would  elect 
From  this  banjo. 

'T  is  not  a  thing  for  serenades 
Beneath  the  windows  of  fair  maids: 
No  whit  cares  it  for  vows  or  tears ; 
It  cuts  sighs  short  —  a  pair  of  shears  — 
This  bright  banjo. 
9 


PLANTATION     SONGS 

O00O00OG0G©0000O000000©0G000O00OO0OQO0000©0aQ000000O0O00O0000OO0GO 

Yet  to  the  maid  of  Africa, 
The  ebon  maid  of  Zanzibar, 
Its  twanging  measures  might  suggest 
Love  thoughts  she'd  deem  the  tenderest  — 
Her  swain's  banjo. 

For  hear  the  dusky  lover  sing, 
Shooting  his  fancies  on  the  wing, 
An  improvised,  absurd  love-song; 
He  fits  it  as  he  goes  along 
To  his  banjo. 


©00OOO000OO00000 


LAS'  dance  gwine  dance  to-night 
Down  in  Holly's  gyarden ; 
My  gal,  yo'  eye  so  bright  — 
I  wisht  my  heart  would  harden! 

Las'  light  de  moon  gwine  give  — 

She  wiltin'  now,  I  see ; 
My  eye 's  like  a  sieve, 

Sift  you  through  and  through  me. 

Las*  song  gwine  sing  to-night 
Down  in  Holly's  gyarden ; 

O  gal,  yo'  hair  so  bright 
I  sho'  hit  slick  wid  lardin'. 


10 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

0000000©00000000000000©00©00000Q0000000000Q000Q00Q©©000Q000Q00©©©© 

My  gal,  she  's  des  as  black 

Ez  airy  lily's  shadder  — 
So  light  fer  airy  fac' 

She  float  up  Jacob's  ladder ! 

Miss  Ladies,  cyard  and  spin. 

Down  in  Holly's  gyarden ; 
Miss  Pretties,  lemme  in 

To  watch  you  at  dat  cyardin'. 

My  gal,  yo'  mouf  so  round 

No  black-berry  rounder  — 
And  den  yo'  teef  so  sound, 

Nairy  pepple  sounder. 

Oh,  my  !  yo'  eye  so  bright, 

Down  in  Holly's  gyarden, 
Hit  gwine  cyarve  my  heart  outright,  — 

And  never  ax  my  pardon  ! 


©O00O0O0000000O0 


T)IANO,  harp,  and  psaltery 

Take  for  their  role  :  Grand  Melody, 
And  the  guitar  and  violin 
Play  for  their  part :  Sweet  Heroine, 
ii 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

(710  0  O0000000OO000OO0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000©©©©© 

In  music's  drama  as  they  play 

Our  hearts  with  noble  passions  sway  :  — 

Banjo  must  be  Jack  Pudding  here, 

Appearing  but  to  disappear; 

But  we  '11  remember  that  the  fool 

Is  often  Shakespeare's  sharpest  tool. 

So  :  true  Hans  Wurst,  this  same  banjo 

Will  have  his  say  before  he  '11  go ; 

No  reverence  he  for  court  or  king, 

Before  the  judge's  door  he'll  sing 

His  parodies  upon  the  law; 

In  strongest  proofs  he'll  pick  a  flaw, 

Through  longest  briefs  his  nonsense  draw ; 

Will  witness  what  he  never  saw  ! 

But  since  good-nature  is  so  free, 

For  once  to  listen  we'll  agree, 

While  some  dark  singer  puts  to  tune 

The  trial  that  he  had  last  June : 


0000000000000000 


/^EMPLEUM  of  de  Jury,  de  Likewise,  An' 
^^      Ef  I  stole  de  pot  den  who  stole  de  pan  ? 
Mister  Distric'  'Torney  'scuse  me  of  a  pig; 
Now  who  gwine  say  ef  hit  little  or  big? 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

000000000000O0000OOOOOO00000000000000000000000O000000O000000000 

Oh,  Mister  Gempleum,  please  lemme  go  ! 

Us  better  give  de  pig  some  time  to  grow ; 

'Caze  de  bigger  is  de  pig  den  de  bigger  is  de  case. 

And  de  credit  to  de  lawyer  dat  's  de  winner  of  de  race. 

Solemn  truf,  Gempleum,  whar  de  hog  's  raise, 

Right  dar  's  de  ve'y  place  whar  he  gwine  to  graze. 

Now,  don't  hoF  de  hog,  Jedge,  des  let  him  scoot  — 

He'll  find  de  ve'y  place  where  he  useter  root. 

Ef  he  go  to  my  house  dat 's  whar  he  b'long  — 

(Wisht  I  had  a  stick  fer  ter  drive  him  along) 

Ef,  on  de  contrary,  he  belongst  to  you  — 

Le's  take  him  to  de  country,  —  and  have  a  Barbecue  ! 

Gempleum  of  the  Jury,  de  Likewise,  An'  — 
Is  you  gwine  to  shut  up  bof  de  hog  and  de  man? 
O  Massa  Jedge,  I  would  n'  ef  I  was  you  — 
Bof '11  be  de  healthier  fer  stayin'  in  de  dew! 

0000000000000000 

\  H,  no  respect  for  Church  or  State  — 
-*•  •**      That  Banjo  is  insatiate. 
Such  swelling  joy  its  cheeks  inflate, 
And  so  much  nonsense  doth  it  prate, 
13 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©0000O000000O000OOOO00000O000G000000GO00O0O00O0O000OQOQ00000OOOO00 

Sure  "  quips  and  cranks  "  upon  it  wait, 

And  laughter  is  its  proper  mate. 

But  only  blacks  in  "  Open  Kiel's  " 

Will  sing  for  us  rollicking  "  reels  "  — 

For  any  one  who  's  "  Gethered  In  " 

Will  say  it  is  a  wretched  sin 

"  To  was'e  so  much  dis  worl's  good  win' 

Fillin'  a  banjo's  no  count  skin  ; 

And  worser  yet  hit  's  al  'a  's  been 

To  lend  yo'  voice  sech  reels  to  spin  !  " 

All  lively  sounds  but  make  up  grist 

For  Brer  Dig's  grim,  dim  mill  of  Mist. 

His  arguments  the  singers  end 

With  laughter  at  their  good  old  friend, 

With  hitting  faults  they  cannot  mend,  — 

For  faults  always  with  fixtures  blend. 

See  !  the  gay  rhymer  shuts  his  eyes, 

Throws  back  his  head  and  sings  thus  wise  : 

0000000000000000 

Brer  Hawk  in  de  Amen  Cornder, 
Jaw  in  his  claw  he  sit  and  ponder  ; 
Rain-crow  he  's  a  high-head  member,  — 
Jine  de  band  sence  las'  December. 
H 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

0G0000G0000000G0000G00000000000000000000000000000000GGG00000000000 

Thrush  he  belong  to  de  Singing  Choir, 
Callin'  de  Seeker  :   Higher  !   Higher  ! 
'Pecker-wood  pass  his  hat  around, 
Keep  his  eye  sot  on  de  ground. 

Yonder  's  de  cat-bird  rockin',  rocking 
Rockin'  'long  wid  a  hole  in  her  stockin'  ! 
Ole  Brer  Buzzard  hollerin',  shriekin', 
Singin' :  Glory  !  and  de  Preacher  speakin'. 

De  Mournin'-Dove  des  deep  in  mournin', 
And  dat  Whip-Po'-Will  cyarn't  cease  groanin'  — 
O  my  Brothers  !     Please  come  th'oo  ! 
Yas  !   My  Brothers  !     Beg  you  do  ! 


©OO0O00000O0000O 


GOOD  this  banjo  with  five  tight  strings, 
King  Instrument  at  "  Puncheon  Flings," 
Where  all  the  colored  damsels  walk 
Down  a  slim  line  that 's  made  with  chalk ; 
And  three  dark  judges  must  decide 
Which  walks  with  most  ease,  grace,  and  pride. 
Now  see  young  Rox  Ann  take  the  floor 
(Surely  no  duchess  could  do  more), 
Her  shoes,  home  tanned  with  red-oak  bark, 
15 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

G0000G000000000000000G00G000G0000GOOG0G000GGOOG000000GGQ0000000GX5W 

At  every  step  they  "  squeak  and  squawk  "  : 

"  Dem  what  beats  her  dey  got  to  walk !  " 

Then  Job  takes  up  his  tuned  banjo, 

To  make  an  interlude,  you  know, 

Consents  to  sing  a  song  or  two  — 

"  Dat  round  de  Ole-Time  Song-Tree  grew." 

0000000000000000 

MISS  Katy  at  de  cake-walk  — 
Move  des  so ! 
Corn-tossle  on  de  stalk 

Swing  des  so  ! 

0  make  a  pretty  motion,  —  tu-re-lu-re! 

1  got  a  mighty  notion,  —  tu-re-lu-re  ! 

Who  gwine  take 

De  cake! 

Mosquito  say  de  Katy-did  ma'  y'd  her  cousin, 

Cousin,  oh  ! 
Mosquito  keep  up  sech  a  mighty  buzzin', 

Cousin,  oh  ! 

Katy-did  say  :   Katy  did  !   Katy  did  n't  !   Dee  !  dee  ! 
Locust  holler  :  Come  see  !   Come  see  !  See 
Who  gwine  take 

De  cake. 
16 


1\/J  AKR  a  pretty  motion  —  tu-re-lu-re  — 
1  got  a  mighty  notion  —  tu-re-lu-re  — 
Who  gwine  take  de  cake  ! 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

G0300QG^000000300000000000000Q00000000GQ0000GG0000000000000©0000G)0 

Oh,  Miss  Jincy,  pigeon-toe, 

Move  des  so  ! 

Backin'  same  as  de  crawfish  go, 
Creep  des  so  ! 

Dem  whar  gits  hit  gits  dere  potion,  —  tu-re-lu-re  ! 
Dem  whar  gits  hit :   Land  er  Goshen  !  —  tu-re-lu-re! 
Who  gwine  take 

De  cake  ! 


0000000000000000 


^T^HEN  the  crude  minstrel,  pressed  for  more, 

-•-        Draws  out  from  his  melodious  store 
A  summer  song  of  birds  and  bees, 
A  song  that 's  set  young  maids  to  please : 


GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 


SUMMER-BEE  in  de  wilier  tree, 

Please,  sah,  fill-a  one  comb  for  me ; 
But  all  dat  honey  in  dat  Souf 
Is  not  s'  sweet  as  Mandy's  mouf ! 

O  clover-patch,  behine  yo'  latch 
De  sweetes'  flowers  grow  and  match ; 
Dey  are  not  so  pretty,  dat  I  know, 
As  my  Mandy.     I  '11  tell  her  so ! 

'9 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0000©000G©000G00G00000eOGOG0000©O0000O00OG00©0OG00©OG000©0e©OOO300 

O  sugar-cane,  you  're  ripe  again, 
As  full  er  juice  as  clouds  er  rain  ; 
But,  oh,  dem  tears  in  Mandy's  eyes 
Air  sweeter  when  she  sof'ly  cries  ! 

Dem  thistle-seed,  folks  name  'em  weed, 
Air  swift  to  foller  breezes  lead  : 
But  I  turn  quicker  on  my  track 
When  Mandy  calls  me  to  come  back  ! 

00000Q000Q00000& 

BUT  when  daylight  begins  to  creep 
Across  the  earth  that 's  half  asleep, 
"  Ole  Day  'gins  move  his  white-wash  brush, 
And  does  his  business  in  a  rush  !  " 
Frolickers  know  their  time  is  up, 
"  De  pretty  walker  's  got  de  cup  !  " 
Then  in  a  spirit  of  abandon 
Job  gives  the  banjo  to  old  Shandon, 
And  that  old  rogue  will  make  confession 
How7  certain  goods  in  his  possession 
Came  to  him  by  a  "  crooked  arm," 
(A  "  crooked-arm  "  man  watch-dogs  can't  harm). 
Ah,  hear  the  thievish  fellow  sing  ! 
True  to  his  words  the  banjo  '11  ring  : 
20 


75  U T  I  turn  quicker  on  my  track 


JLJ 


When  Mandy  calls  me  to  come  back  — 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

00O000GG000OQGO000OOOOOGO000000OOOOOGOGGOGGOOOO00GOO0OGOGGGOGOOOOO 


O 


PHARAOH ! 

'Way  down  in  Egypt  land, 
Gwine  tell  ole  Pharaoh's  band  — 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Nigger  in  de  woods  settin'  on  a  log. 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Hand  on  de  trigger,  and  de  eye  on  de  hog, 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Oh,  some  folks  say  dat  de  nigger  won't  steal, 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Ole  Master  cotch  eleven  in  his  corn-fiel'  — 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Nigger  is  a-pickin'  in  de  cotton-patch, 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Keepin'  all  de  cotton  dat  his  pockets  catch, 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Nigger  is  a-slippin'  on  de  'tater-fiel'  — 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Oh,  dat  'possum  wid  sugar  in  's  heel ! 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
Nigger  steal  a  picayune  to  buy  him  a  wife, 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 
You  may  save  all  yo'  days,  but  you  cyarn't  save  yo'  life  — 

Let  dem  people  go! 
23 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

O000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000O000000O0O000Q000 

Nigger  set  a  trap  in  de  highes'  grass. 
Let  dem  people  go  ! 

If  it  cotch  Misses'  turkey  it  '11  hoi'  him  fas'  — 
Let  dem  people  go  ! 
O  Pharaoh  ! 

'Way  down  in  Egypt  land, 

Gwine  tell  ole  Pharaoh's  band 

Let  dem  people  go  ! 


GO00000000000000 


fT^HEN  as  the  crowd  breaks  up  to  go 

-*-        Job  takes  again  his  own  banjo, 
And,  walking  close  behind  Rox  Ann, 
Makes  love  to  her  —  ambitious  man  ! 
For  she  's  the  belle  of  six  plantations, 
Filling  men's  hearts  with  sore  vexations. 
But  Job  will  hope  while  there  is  life  — 
Persistency  's  won  many  a  wife  ! 
So  through  the  fields  where  cotton  grows, 
Striped  by  the  corn  in  even  rows, 
The  dusky  lovers  take  their  way 
Beneath  the  gray  wings  of  New  Day. 
They  pass  great  cotton-woods  whose  leaves 
Clap  like  glad  hands  ;  pass  the  low  eaves 
24 


R 


OX 


She  is  the  belle  of  six  plantations, 
Filling  mens  hearts  with  sore  vexations, 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

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Of  some  bare  lonely  cabin  home, 
Across  the  new-plowed,  sooty  loam  ; 
Down  the  white  road  whose  limestone  bluff 
Is  gay  with  "  nigger-heads  "  of  buff; 
Where  vines  of  wild  potato  blooms 
Hang  down  the  banks,  drooped,  snowy  plumes, 
White  melilotus  fills  the  air 
With  perfume  aromatic,  rare  ; 
And  thousand  bees  are  hovering  o'er 
Those  blossoms  rich  with  crystal  store 
Of  honeys  sweet  as  those  that  fill 
The  flowers  of  Hymettus  Hill ; 
Across  the  bridges  'neath  which  gleam 
The  ripples  of  the  bored-well's  stream  : 
Afar,  anear  —  the  pleasant  splash, 
Artesian  waters'  downward  dash  — 
A  million  fountains  whose  clear  gush 
Makes  Alabama's  Black  Belt  lush. 
The  morning  star  still  shines  apace 
Ere  the  broad  sun  lifts  up  his  face  ; 
The  hedges  are  astir  with  birds ; 
Afar  they  hear  the  lowing  herds  ; 
The  eternal  prairie  breezes  blow 
The  purple  hazes  to  and  fro  ; 
The  morning-glories  round  the  corn 
27 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Open  their  blue  eyes  to  the  morn. 
Oh,  what  an  hour  is  this  to  tell 
A  damsel  that  you  love  her  well. 
'T  is  very  plain  that  Job  thinks  so. 
For  hear  !   he  strikes  his  gay  banjo  ! 


000000O0000000OO 


T"\AR's  one  flower  by  de  brook 

*^*      Dat's  got  my  sweetheart's  darkly  look 

Dar  's  des  one  flower  black  as  she, 

And  dat's  de  ve'y  one  for  me  — 

O  you  sweet-shrub, 
Dark  as  my  lub  ! 

A  many  a  bloom  's  as  white  as  snow. 
And  many  a  yaller  one  I  know  ; 
Des  one's  as  brown  as  Roxy's  cheek  — 
Hit  grows  along  Bogue  Chitty  Creek  — 

Sweet-shrub  !  Sweet-shrub ! 

O  lub  !  O  lub  ! 

De  harder  dat  you  press  dat  bloom, 

De  gooder  gits  hit's  good  perfume; 

Yit  nothin'  'bout  dat  flower  's  gran', 

Hit  only  suit  de  po'  black  man. 

O  dat  sweet-shrub, 
Black  as  my  lub  ! 
28 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

0GOOOOOG©©O0GGO©GOGG00GGGGGOGGG0G©0GO©0G©GG©GG0©G©G0©OGe00e©G©GGGO 

O  honey  my  lub,  de  grave  is  green, 
O  honey  my  lub,  grass  is  between 
De  heart  dat  I  would  hoi'  to  mine. 
And  des  true  heart  dat 's  al'a's  dine  : 

Good-bye,  sweet-shrub  ! 

Good-bye,  my  lub  ! 

Dar  's  flowers  pink,  and  red,  and  blue, 
Left  in  de  world  fer  next  year's  dew  : 
Dey  all  may  suit  some  y'o'her  eye, 
Dey  all  des  make  me  moan  and  cry  : 

Fer  you,  sweet-shrub  ! 

Fer  you,  my  lub  ! 


©QGGGGG00GGG00QG 


NO,  Rox  Ann  is  not  moved  to  tears, 
No  sadness  to  her  heart  inheres : 
She  laughs  as  gaily  as  before, 
While  Job  will  still  his  love-talk  pour 
Into  her  ear  as  on  they  go, 
Timing  his  talk  to  his  banjo  : 
"Say,  why  V  you  marry  me?    Hum?    Haw? 
I  works  —  "     "  Yas  !  works  yo'  jaw  !  " 
£C  I  'm  name  a  good  hand,  dat  you  know  —  " 
"  A  good  hand  on  dat  ole  banjo  !  " 

29 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

O0O00000000O00G00O0000G0O0000OO00OO00G0OO00O00O0GOO000000OG000O0O© 

"  Come,  Rox  Ann,  what 's  de  cause  to  tarry  ? 

I  sho'  I  good  enough  to  marry, 

I  good  —  "     "  Good  as  ole  Harry  !  " 

"  Rox  Ann  I  'm  pretty  now,  I  know ! " 

"  Pretty  ugly  !  dat  you  is,  fer  sho' 

And  mo'  'n  dat  pretty  apt  to  stay  so  ! " 

"  I  got  a  hoss  and  buggy,  —  dat's  sho'  !  " 

"  Is  yo'  stable  down  in  Hideyo  ? " 

"  Yit  I  suits  yo'  and  yo'  suits  me  —  " 

"  Young  ox  go  Wo  when  you  tell  him  Gee  !  " 

"  But  I  love  you  and  you  must  love  me  —  " 

"  Shoo  !  all  dese  niggers  is  set  free  !  " 

So  gay  Rox  Ann  goes  on  her  way, 

Leaving  her  lover  in  dismay  — 

He  to  turn  brave  face  to  defeat, 

Will  join  the  jay  in  carol  meet 

To  show  he  will  not  deign  to  be 

Despairing  for  such  maid  as  she : 

O000O000O000000© 

AR,  Miss  Nigger  !     Hard  to  please  ! 

Gwine  de  lef  fer  de  winter  breeze  — 
Same  like  corn-stalk  lef  in  de  fiel', 
Lef  fer  de  nex'  year's  wagon-wheel  ! 
Go  'long,  Nigger,  I  don't  keer, 
Somebody  '11  hab  me,  don't  you  fear ! 

3° 


"QOOD  hand  on  dot  ole  banjo  !  " 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

©O0G0G0OOOOOO0OGG0GGGO00OOGOG000000000000O00O0000000000QOQOO0OOO00 

YET  scarce  the  clock  one  hour  can  mark, 
Scarcely  has  day  thrown  off  the  dark, 
Ere  Job  feels  that  he  's  been  too  rough, 
Quite  ready  he  to  cry  :  Enough  ! 
And  Rox  Ann,  too,  begins  to  sorrow  — 
All  youth  is  quick  of  grief  to  borrow. 
Great  fear  she  feels  that  she  will  lose 
The  lover  that  her  heart  would  choose, 
Three  buckets  for  her  load  she  goes 
Where  the  artesian  water  flows  ; 
She  puts  one  bucket  'neath  the  stream 
And  stands  enwrapped  in  half  a  dream. 
Job  has  filled  up  the  food-troughs  now, 
And  has  drawn  out  his  double-plow, — 
On  the  plow-beam  he  takes  his  seat 
To  wait  until  "  de  mules  done  eat." 
Together  he  and  his  banjo 
Utter  the  saddest  notes  they  know  — 
The  song  old  Elam  often  sung 
Before  great  silence  touched  his  tongue  : 

0O000000000OO000 

;r  SETS  on  dese  heah  rottin'  logs, 
-*-      I  watch  dis  drove  of  pigs  and  hogs, 
I  drives  'em  off  from  ev'y  gap 

3  33 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©00000000000G00000GG0000GGG0000000000000G0000000000GOOGG0000GOOOOO 

Dey  find  in  Mister's  sorghum-crap- 
Dem  hogs  dey  grunt  an'  dey  says  to  me : 
Elam's  room  's  better  'n  his  company  ! 

I  sets  beside  de  kitchen  fire, 
De  blazes  runs  up  high  and  higher, 
De  darkeys  laugh  and  joke  around, 
Dey  call  ole  Elam's  room  :  "  Was'e  Groun' :  " 
Dey  ruther  have,  I  easy  kin  see, 
Ole  Elam's  room  dan  his  company. 

Ole  Massa  's  kilt  at  Cedar  Run, 
Ole  Missis'  days  is  long  been  done  — 
Eh  !  long  as  dem  two  was  alive, 
Dey  need  ole  Elam,  sah,  to  drive. 

Ole  Massa  'd  hit  dat  man  —  ho-he  ! 

Dat'dcall  Elam's  room  better  'n  his  company  I 

Missis  could  n't  do  widout  me, —  Dar  ! 

I  'bleeged  to  drive  dat  skittish  pa'r  — 

Dat  Dick  and  Dolly  'd  run  't  was  plain 

Onless  ole  Elam  helt  de  rein  ! 
But  now  so  no  count  Elam  be 
His  room  's  wof  mo'  'n  his  company  ! 


34 


SE  TS  on  dese  be  ah  rot  tin*  lops  — 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

000000©  ©GG00©©©©e©Q©Q0Q000©Qe0QQ000©©©©Q0©©0Q0QQQ©00©QQQ00QQ©00©00 

THE  limpid  stream  has  filled  the  pails, 
And  Rox  Ann  lifts  them  by  the  bails. 
One  on  her  head,  one  in  each  hand, 
She  steps  across  the  dew-wet  land, 
And  —  strange —  her  road  lies  just  that  way 
Round  which  the  banjo's  tinklings  stray. 
(In  all  love's  lore  this  axiom  's  true  : 
The  Long  Way  Round  Is  The  Short  Way  Through  !) 
She  walks  with  stately  step  and  slow, 
She  passes  Job  and  his  banjo  : 
Then  she  sends  back  her  even  voice 
In  words  that  make  Job's  heart  rejoice: 


Q0QQ0QO©Q©0©Q©Q0 


w 


ATCH  out,  Nigger  man,  what  you  'bout, 
You  '11  sholy  wear  dat  banjo  out  — 
Let  'lone  dis  gal  ! 


I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  hatter  do  — 
I  '11  be  obleeged  to  marry  you, 

And  dat  I  shall. 

I  bound  to  make  yo'  big  mouf  hush, 
And  knock  dat  banjo  inter  mush 
Befo'  I  die  ! 

37 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0OOOOO00000O00O000O000O000000O00000000O0O00O00O000000OO00QOOOGO00© 

I  mus'  give  dem  po'  strings  a  pause, 
I  '11  marry  you  fer  des  dat  cause 
And  reason  why. 

©000000000000000 

AND  so  you  Jike  this  gay  banjo  ?  — 
It  little  suits  a  hand  of  snow  ; 
Yet  still  on  Music's  Sea  'twill  float 
A  pretty,  skimming  pleasure-boat. 
Right  merrily  ! 

Among  the  ships  upon  Sound's  Sea 
(A  sparkling  sea  of  Harmony) 
'T  will  ever  drift  a  lively  craft, 
While  gayest  breezes  round  it  waft, 
Right  cheerily  ! 

Forever  down  its  good  taut  strings 
Laughter  will  murmur  light  nothings ; 
In  truth  we  could  not  well  dispense 
With  this  meek  friend  of  no  pretence  — 
Nay,  verily ! 

Then  little  banjo,  ever  float 
On  Melody,  a  jolly  mote, — 
38 


rPHREE  buckets  for  her  load  she  goes  — 


SONGS    FOR    MY    LADY'S    BANJO 

©00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Touched  by  my  Lady's  finger-tips, 
And  sung  to  by  her  dainty  lips, 
Right  cheerily  ! 

Surely  no  strings  can  happier  be 
Than  those  she  touches  frequently  ; 
So,  pretty  banjo,  do  your  best, 
Follow  her  lightest,  sweet  behest, 
Right  merrily  ! 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

OGGOO000O000000000G000OO0000Q00000OOOOOO0OO00000000000000000GOOOOO 

Wintlt  Aaron's  Greeting :  &  jHonologue 

0OO0000000000000 

A /  Md"  Quarter 

AT  !     Come  back  from  Santiago? 
And  wearin'  his  arm  in  a  sling  — 
Lawsy  marcy,  ole  'oman,  heah  dat ! 

Don't  dat  beat  ev'ything? 
Take  my  hat  off  de  peg,  Jerushy, 

I  ain't  had  it  down  for  a  year  ; 
Git  my  long-tail-black,  out  de  chist  dar 

You !      Handle  dat  coat  wid  keer  : 
My  folks  wore  dat  coat  th'oo  three  sessions  — 

Ole  master,  his  pa,  and  his  son  — 
You  has  to  have  'spec'  for  a  coat 

That 's  been  th'oo  de  years  like  dis  one. 
Hu  !  yu  !   Den.      I 'm  stiff  in  the  jints, 

But  walkin'  '11  limber  me  some. 
Git  my  cane  out  de  cornder,  Jerushy ; 

Now  call  dem  boys  :   Lewis  !   oh,  Lum  ! 
Come  go  wid  gran-pa  to  de  Gre't  House  — 

And  come  quick,  you  lazy  young  coons  ; 
Yo'  marse  Tom  is  come  from  de  wars 

Des  tetotally  kivered  wid  woun's  ! 
42 


UNCLE    AARON'S    GREETING 

(D000000O000000O00O00000000000000000000000000000000000O00O00000000© 

I  feel  sorter  now  like  a  gen'leman, 

Bar's  virtoo  in  dis  coat,  I  believe, 
To  make  me  feel  most  like  a  scholard 

Wid  de  larnin'  dat  ole  master  leave 
Des  hangin'  around  in  dese  pockets, 

Or  maybe  slipped  up  in  de  sleeve. 
I  feel  now  as  spry  as  a  sojer 

Off  a  day  on  a  bravery  leave. 

Singing 

Bar's  blood  on  de  clouds  and  de  moon's  shickle  's  sharp, 

Be  angel  is  strikin'  war-chunes  on  de  harp  — 

For  he  's  struck  his  shickle  in  de  harves'-nel', 

And  a  many  a  soul  has  to  crouch  and  creel ; 

For  he  '11  gether  de  grain  in  his  gol'en  hand, 

4nd  a  many  feet  '11  press  on  de  gol'en  strand  — 

Yes  !   my  brother!  you  oughter  been  dar 

When  de  winds  blew  free  and  far  ! 

O  !   my  sister  !     You  oughter  been  along 

When  de  death-wind  swept  so  strong  ! 

Bern  winds  air  filt  wid  breath  of  de  dyin' 
(Byin'  breaf  sets  de  winds'  wings  flyin'). 
O  !  my  brother,  de  angel  was  dar 
When  de  woun's  fell  nigh  and  fell  far : 

43 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000G000000000000000000 

When  de  cradle  was  struck  in  de  fiel' 
When  War  turned  de  chariot-wheel  — 

Yes  !      Dat  wheel  is  fleein'  and  flyin', 

Whirled  by  de  sobbin'  and  de  sighin' ! 

Swift  wid  breaf  of  so  many  a  dyin', 

Sobbin'  wid  cryin'  and  sighin'  ! 

On  the  Path 

Hold  up,  chil'en,  de  ole  man  'bleeged  to  rest. 

Lemme  set  on  dis  log  des  a  spell, 
I  must  wait  twel  my  strengt'  rises  some'at  — 

Good  you  cotch  me  —  I  mos'  might  er  fell  ! 
How  quiet  de  fiel's  and  de  country, 

As  still  as  de  ole  gin  in  June. 
Dis  a  cur'us  war  anyhow, 

Our  war  wa'n't  played  to  dis  tune  ! 
Des  Marse  Tom,  and  some  one  or  two  mo'. 

Few  several  gone  to  de  fight  — 
Marcy  !  in  our  war  my  master 

And  four  hunderd  'listed  one  night  ! 
Ev'y  one  had  his  several  hosses, 

Nigger  cook,  nigger  boy,  nigger  man  ; 
Besides  from  dis  ve'y  plantation 

Mos'  a  whole  endurin'  brass  ban'. 
And  us  melt  and  roll  into  bullets 
44 


UNCLE    AARON'S    GREETING 

©O0O0GGOO0GOOG00OG0OOQ00000000OO00000O0OO000QOO0OO0Q0000GOOOO0O000 

Ev'y  teapot  and  plantation  bell. 
And  us  took  ev'y  plow  offde  stock 

When  later  us  needed  mo'  shell. 
And  all  day  de  ladies  picked  lint, 

A-singin'  to  keep  back  de  tears, 
And  de  quarter-folks  tried  to  raise  corn 

Wid  a  passel  o'  scrubby  ole  steers, 
'Caze  our  hosses  all  gone  to  de  front, 

And  our  mules  gone  pullin'  de  guns, 
And  dar  war' n't  a  white  man  to  be  seen  — 

To  de  front !     All  —  fathers  and  sons  ! 
Well,  times  is  obleeged  to  change, 

And  de  ole  ways  is  mos'  wo'  out : 
Young  folks,  and  new  ways,  and  new  wars  — 

Wonder  what  dis  new  war  is  about  : 
Never  heard  of  no  Spaniards  in  my  time, 

De  Lord  must  have  made  'em  sence. 
In  Cuba  ?     Freein'  mo'  niggers  ? 

Dar  's  enough  on  dis  side  of  de  fence. 
A  passel  of  skittish  free  darkeys 

As  won't  let  ole  folks  teach  'em  sense. 
Well,  chil'en,  le  's  move  on  along  ; 

De  House  ain't  much  fudder,  I  know, 
But,  law  !  when  de  years  git  heavy 

How  long  de  short  paths  grow. 
45 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

G000000000O00OOOOO0OOOOO0O000000000OOOOO0OO0O0000OOG00G0O00OOOG0O© 

Singing 

I  'm  on  de  road, 
I  'm  on  de  road, 
I  got  no  time  to  tarry  ! 
I  got  no  load, 
I  got  no  load, 
I  got  no  load  to  carry  ! 

I  'm  on  de  heaven-road.      I  Ve  los'  de  sinner's  load, 
I  feel  salvation's  goad,  drivin'  me  on  de  road  ! 

My  feet  are  shod, 
My  feet  are  shod, 
I  wear  de  shoes  of  John  ! 
De  way  he  trod, 
De  way  he  trod 
Leads  me  so  gently  on  ! 

I  'm  on  de  heaven  way,  I  cannot  stop  nor  stay, 
The   Leader's  voice  I  will   obey,  and  keep  right  in  de 
heaven  way  ! 


At  the  Great  House 

Marcy  me  !  what 's  dat  on  de  tower  ? 
Yankee-flag,  des  sho  as  I  'm  born  ! 
Heah,  chil'en,  slip  down  and  hide 
Right  heah  in  dis  ruslin'  high  corn 


UNCLE    AARON'S    GREETING 

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000O00000OO 

Dem  Yankees  sure  found  dat  Marse  Tom 

Was  des  come  home  for  a  spell, 
And  dey  done  come  and  took  dat  boy 

Ter  deir  Dry  'Tugas  Prison,  or  hell  ! 
Dey  done  raise  deir  flag  on  de  house  ! 

Gracious  me  !  what  is  dey  gone  done  ? 
I  'spec'  neither  man  nor  mouse 

Is  left —  not  nary  a  one  ! 

Is  you  crept  up  and  tuck  a  nigh  look,  Lum  ? 

Des  tell  de  ole  man  what  you  see  — 
Ole  Marse  and  ole  Miss  on  de  gallery, 

As  easy  as  easy  can  be  P 
Den  tell  me  :  Is  dat  flag  a  flyin' 

What  I  think  dat  I  think  I  see  ? 
Yas.     And,  Lewis,  you  say  dat  Marse  Tom 

Is  come  out  on  de  front  porch,  too  ? 
Is  you  tryin'  to  fool  yer  grand-daddy, 

Or  tellin'  him  truf  fer  true? 
Well,  come  and  le  's  go  'long  and  see 

If  dey  is  done  surrender  or  not  — 
Maybe  Marster  done  give  up  de  place 

Widout  even  parley  or  shot. 

Lord,  boy!   Lord,  chile!   Lord,  honey  — 

Our  boy  wid  his  arm  in  a  sling  — 
4  49 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©GO000OO0O0000e00000000000OO©00000000000000000O00OOOOOOG000O0OGO0G> 

Didn'  I  teach  you  to  ride  !     You  !  sonny  — 

Didn'  I  bait  yo'  fust  hook  ?     Ev'y  thing  — 
And  to  think  you  done  been  to  de  wars  ! 

Yit  dese  arms  kin  clasp  you  once  mo'. 
Bless  de  Lord  for  dis  day,  little  massa ! 

Dis  day  —  He-he!   ho-ho  ! 
My  soul,  boy  —  De  brass  and  de  buttons  — 

Sojer-straps  !  —  and  des  one  heavy  fight  ? 
But--  What 's  dis  I  see  ?     Gracious  me  ! 

Tell  me  —  oh,  does  my  ole  eyes  see  right? 
Is  my  boy  heah  got  on  de  blue  ? 

Shoo  —  den  —  oh  !   I  scarcely  kin  ax  it — 
Is  you  'serted  and  left  us  for  true  ? 

Don't  you  know  dem  gray  cloze  in  de  chist 
In  camphire  laid  up  in  de  lof  ? 

Don't  you  know  how  us  cried  when  us  fold  'em  ? 
Even  Marse  hid  a  sob  wid  a  cough. 

Come  heah  !   boy  !     Tell  me  !  —  what  you  done  ? 
Is  I  done  load  yo'  very  fust  musket, 

Fer  you  ter  be  feared  of  a  gun  ? 

Hu  !     You  laughin'  at  dis  ole  nigger  ? 

Des  tell  me,  den,  what  all  dis  mean, 
Fer  dat  flag  and  dese  cloze  is  de  beatenes' 

Things  my  old  eyes  even  seen. 
50 


UNCLE  AARON'S  GREETING 

<D©0©0000000Q0O©000000Q0QQQ0©©00Q©Q©0©©©0000Q0QQG0Q000QQQQQQQQ00Q©G 

You  say  that  you  follered  Joe  Wheeler 

To  de  rifle-pits  down  at  Caney  ? 
Dat  's  right.      Us  follered  dat  Wheeler 

From  Tupelo  to  Kintuck  —  like  you  say. 
And  you  say  Wheeler  rallied  'em  on 

And  won  de  whole  glorious  day  ! 
Now,  boy,  dat  talkin'  sounds  good 

In  de  good  ole-fashioned  way. 
But  you  say  he  rallied  his  men 

Round  dat  flag,  and  led  men  from  New  York  ? 
I  sholy  believe  my  senses 

Gwine  ac'  like  a  mustang  —  and  balk. 
And  us  all  des  one  country  now, 

Same  as  had  no  Great  War  at  all  ? 
Call  it  de  "late  onpleasantness  "  — 

Gone  like  first  frost  in  de  fall  — 
Hu  !  boy  !     Time  changes  and  changes, 

Changes  may  be  for  better  and  all, 
But  you  can't  'spec'  a  stupid  ole  nigger 

Ter  stretch  his  mind  round  de  whole  ball. 
All  I  know  is  :  With  things  gwine  like  you  say 

Den  us  nigh  to  de  golden  sho', 
Whar  dey  eats  des  butter  and  honey, 

And  whar  Yankees  ain't  Yankees  no  mo'. 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GX30000000000000000©OQ(IX30(^^ 


Barnes  anti 


00O0OO00O0000OO0 


T  T  EAR  Uncle  Roger  as  he  sings 

*-  •*-      Of  old-time,  half-forgotten  things, 

Of  happy  times  now  passed  away  — 

Of  foolery  for  All  Fools'  Day. 

Melodious,  clear  his  old  voice  rings, 

Gay  in  his  poverty  he  sings  : 

And  all  his  songs  will  still  display 

The  negro  then  as  now,  —  alway 

Happy-go-lucky  as  to-day  : 


0000000003000000 


r  T  OWCOME  de  fools  have  a  'special  day 

•*-  -••      And  de  wise  men  dey  have  none? 
Dat  must  be  des  a  laps  th'oo'd  in 
When  de  stint  of  time  was  done. 

Fer  de  clock  run  round  in  a  jokin'  way, 
And  de  clouds  play  tricks  on  de  sun  — 

De  hours  seem  to  have  des  a  minute  to  stay  — 
Des  step  in  to  see  de  fun  ! 
52 


L-TEAR  Uncle  Roger  as  be  sings 

Of  old-time,  half-forgotten  things  — 


APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES 

©00Q0G000G00O0O©OOOGO©0GOGOOO0GOOOOGOOOO©000OOGOOOOO00O000OeO00QGO 

Us  kin  knock  all  day  at  de  Great  House  door, 

Den  run  round  de  cornder  quick  ! 
Dar's  a  holiday  fer  ev'y  nigger  on  de  place 
And  nairy  a  one  is  sick. 

Aunt  Ziny  puts  cotton  in  de  muffins  den, 

And  de  sugar  bowl 's  filt  wid  salt, 
De  whole  plantation  gwine  on  mad 

And  nobody  callin'  halt ! 

Us  kin  hitch  up  an  ox  to  de  great  big  carr'ag' 

Wid  a  fishin'-pole  for  a  whip  — 
Us  kin  play  any  joke  on  de  Great  House  folk 

And  nobody  care  a  tip  ! 

Oh,  de  Fools'  Day  sho'  is  a  jobly  day 

And  a  day  to  walk  wid  pleasure, 
I  'm  sho'  hit's  a  day  like  des  th'oo'd  in 

Fer  to  give  us  extra  measure. 

De  year  is  awful  pleasin'  anyhow  :  dar  's  as  many  colors  to 
hit  as  dar  was  to  Joseph's  coat.  White  Christmas,  Green 
Fust  of  April,  Bright  Fo't'  of  July,  and  a  Brown  Michael 
mas-time  fer  to  eat  a  goose  fer  to  bring  good  luck  fer  all 
de  year  round. 

55 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0O00OO00O000O00OO00O0OOOO0000000000000000OOOO0OO00000O0O00OQOO00O0 

Hit's  true  ef  de  fools  have  one  whole  day 

Dat  ev'y  man  has  one, 
When  he  pay  de  dues  somehow,  some  way, 

Dat  he  owes  to  fool  and  fun ! 

Des  see  how  Brer  Lizzard  played  de  fool 

When  he  buyed  so  many  coats  — 
And  de  mockin'-bird  he  showed  less  sense 

When  he  sign  up  all  de  birds'  notes  ! 

Sis'  Katy-did  sho'  went  and  los'  her  wit 

When  she  start  her  Katy  did  ! 
Dey  cross  'zamin'  her  a  ever  sence 

Twel  she  say  :   Katy  did  n't  instid  ! 

How  'bout  Sis'  Mole  when  she  git  so  proud 
Dat  she  could  n't  walk  on  de  groun'  ? 

Fer  to  show  how  she  done  play  de  fool 
She  was  put  way  down,  down,  down  ! 

Brer  Buzzard,  too,  see  him  walk  so  proud  on  a  hill-top 
some  sunshiny  day  and  you  '11  think  he  is  wiser  dan  any 
body —  yit  look  how  he  done  !  Laugh  at  all  de  nests  hung 
out  for  all  de  birds  to  try,  and  hisse'f  would  n't  choose  none. 
And  see  him  now  :  when  de  rain  comes  he  sits  drawn  up  on 
a  rail  fence  and  croaks  out : 


/j  UNT  ZINT  puts  cotton  in  de  muffins  den 
And  de  sugar  bowl 's  filt  wid  salt  — 


APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES 

O00000O000OO0000000O000O000000000000000000000000000O00000000000000 

"  I  'm  gwine  to  bull'  me  a  house  in  de  mornin'  ! 
I  'm  gwine  to  buil'  me  a  house  in  de  mornin'  !  " 

But  de  nex'  day  he's  out  in  de  sunshine  as  foolish  as  ever, 
—  he  flies  in  de  highest  sky,  and  he  say  : 

"  Dis  is  better  'n  any  house  ! 

Dis  is  better  'n  any  house  !  " 

O000000000000000 

IF  ev'ybody  and  ev'ything,  I  say 
Would  des  be  silly  one  single  day  — 
Den  I  reckon  de  wise  folks  might  and  may 
Never  find  nothin'  mo'  to  say  — 
But  we  'd  all  des  laugh  together. 

But  now  hit's  up,  and  now  hit's  down, 
Dis  one  giggle  and  dat  one  frown, 
One  gwine  straight,  and  y'  o'her  gwine  round, 
Yet  all  find  de  way  to  Silly  Town  — 
But  nobody  laugh  together. 

If  we  'd  all  choose  de  day  when  de  Spring  is  bright. 
When  de  rain  and  de  sunshine  don't  know  quite 
Whicherone  is  de  mostest  light ; 
When  de  sunbeam  's  yaller  and  de  raindrop  's  white 
And  all  des  laugh  together, 
59 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

OOOOOOOG0000000000Q0OOO00O0033000Q0000003000O0OO000000G00GG0OG0OO0 

Den  de  rest  of  de  year  we  'd  all  be  wise 
And  ev'ybody's  wit  'ud  be  one  size, 
And  nobody  't  all  would  be  surprise 
To  see  wise  folks  in  a  fool's  disguise 
Des  one  day  all  together ! 

Brer  Lizzard  he'  fuse  to  laugh  wid  de  rest  of  de  world,  so 
de  ole  folks  say,  and  dar  ain't  no  kinder  tellin'  now  when 
he  gwine  to  be  tuck  wid  de  wo'se  sorter  spell  of  gigglement. 
If  he  meet  anybody  gwine  'long  de  big  road  or  de  neighbor 
path  he  '11  tuck  his  head  down  and  laugh,  and  laugh,  twel 
he  make  you  feel  right  foolish  fer  even  des  a  varmint  to 
laugh  at  you  so  hearty.  Mo'  'n  dat  ef  he  bite  you,  you 
will  get  to  be  a  all-de-year-round  giggler  des  like  he  is. 


000000000000000O 


DAR'S  a  heap  of  fool  things  gwine  on  all  de  year, 
Dat  is  de  truf ! 
Hit'd  'stonish  folks  if  folks  could  hear  — 

Dat  is  de  truf! 
Now  dis  heah  quar'l  'twixt  de  kittle  and  de  pot 

Dat  is  de  truf! 
Which  is  de  blackest  and  which  is  not  — 

Dat  is  de  truf! 

And  de  same  sorter  'sputement  is  began, 
Dat  is  de  truf! 
60 


T^\EN  I  reckon  de  wise  folks  might  and  may 
Never  find  nothin   f  all  to  say 

But  we  V  des  all  laugh  together  ! 


APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES 

Q000000000OOO00QOQ0000000OOO00000G00000000Q00000O0QQO0O00OGO00000O 

'Twixt  de  skillit-lid  and  de  fryin'-pan  — 

Dat  is  de  truf ! 
And  all  dis  talk  'twixt  de  pot-hook  and  de  crane 

Dat  is  de  truf! 
Hit '11  go  so  far  dat  dey  can't  explain  — 

Dat  is  de  truf! 
Des  as  silly  is  de  spider  arguin'  wid  de  hoe 

Dat  is  de  truf! 
Dey  all  is  black  !  Don't  you  think  so  ? 

Dat  is  de  truf! 

But  de  mos'  silly  chile  of  all  is  de  chile  dat  takes  up  de 
fire-stick  to  scratch  de  soot  off  de  chimney-back,  fer  dat's 
a  sign  to  bring  a  whippin'  to  dat  chile  sho'  —  dat  is  one  of 
de  ole  folks'  signs,  dat  is. 


000000O000000000 


~"\EN  come  along,  niggers,  play  yo'  pranks  to-day, 
*^*      Den  get  to  work  to-morrow  — 
Des  patch  ole  jokes  in  de  ole  time  way. 
Forget  wearied  lines  and  sorrow. 

'T  won't  do  no  harm  to  unhinge  a  gate, 

Or  to  write  a  funny  letter, 
Or  to  tell  Uncle  Jake  dat  de  stable's  a-fire  — 

And  quickly  tell  him  better  ! 

63 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

G0000OO00O003000O000000000000000000000O0G0O00O00QG00O000G0OOO00OOe 

Send  ole  Miss  a  bunch  of  dog-wood  blooms, 

Wid  a  string  of  fish  tied  in  it ; 
Send  Marse  a  log  fum  de  las'  bee- tree, 

And  he  won't  find  words  ag'in  it ! 

Put  Limber  Jo  dancin'  on  de  puncheon-flo'  — 

And  loosen  a  plank  in  de  middle  — 
De  way  dat  nigger  '11  trip  on  dat  plank 

Will  nigh  'bout  bust  de  fiddle  ! 

Set  ole  Bob  playin'  wid  's  fiddle  in  's  hands 

And  slily  grease  his  bow  — 
Ask  Tuss  to  strike  up  a  banjo  tune  — 

Fill  de  skin  wid  cotton  —  Oh  !   ho  ! 

Oh,  dar  's  many  a  way  to  have  much  fun 

And  never  do  no  harm, 
And  an  all-day  laugh  is  better  luck 

Dan  airy  conjure-charm  ! 

Much  as  I  do  b'lieve  in  de  ole  folks'  signs,  I  sho'  do 
b'lieve  dat  a  real  good  laugh  is  better  luck  dan  even 
red-peppers  hangin'  from  de  jist  of  de  cabin,  or  sunflowers 
growin'  at  de  gate,  or  cotton-cards  crossed  over  de  bed 
head,  and  almost  as  good  as  a  horse-shoe  nailed  ends  up 
against  de  do'-facin'. 


T  Jo  Bob  play  in'  wid  his  fiddle  in  his  hands, 
And  slyly  grease  his  bow  — 


APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES 

GGGGGGGGG0G0OGG000GG00GG000000000000GG00GGGG0000000000000000G00000 

OH,  spin  me  out  dat  extra  day 
Sun  flyin'  round  so  high  ! 
I  'm  sho'  de  sun  is  a  spinnin'-wheel 
Spirmin'  round  dat  sky  ! 

Watch  de  April  showers  how  dey  slip  up  now 

And  break  offde  shine  of  de  day, 
Same  as  chillen  round  de  ole  folks'  wheel, 

Break  off  de  thread  dat  way  ! 

Oh,  de  shine  is  better  for  de  small  rain-fall 

Des  so  de  wind  don't  blow  — 
And  de  Spring  of  de  year  is  a  happy  time 

If  fros'  don't  fall  no  mo'  ! 

Ground-hog  ain't  feared  of  his  shadder  now 

De  yaller  jessamine  's  blowin' ! 
And  ev'y  gal  is  plantin'  slips 

To  see  if  her  beau's  love  's  growin' ! 

De  cotton  is  planted  in  de  light  of  de  moon, 

To  do  its  'bove-ground  bollin'  — 
De  brown  branch  holes  are  full  of  fish  — 

And  de  long  fern  leaves  unrollin'  ! 
67 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Truf,  too,  de  ole  folks'  signs  is  all  out  fer  ter  tell  de 
chilly  season  done  passed.  De  beans  are  sowed  in  de 
light  of  de  moon ;  de  root-crops  sowed  in  de  dark  of 
de  moon,  are  takin'  strong  holt  in  de  ground.  De  flyin'- 
ants  are  out  in  swarms. 

O000000OO0O0O000 

SO  joke  on,  niggers,  who  gwine  keer  ? 
Us  '11  have  a  good  time  on  de  Vances  of  de  year, 
Times  is  change  sence  niggers  is  free, 
But  he  still  love  to  laugh,  and  dat  I  see  — 
Us '11  mortgage  up  de  mule,  and  de  calf,  and  de  cow  — 
And  get  out  of  payin'  some  way  how  ! 
So  heah  is  Buck,  Lambskin,  and  Zo,  — 
'Tain't  de  fust  time  you  been  mortgage  befo'  ! 
Wid  a  crop-lien  heah,  and  a  rent-note  dar 
Nigger  won't  hatter  hoe  his  row  too  far  — 
And  whatever  happen  at  de  end  of  de  year 

Nigger  happy  to-day  and  to-morrow  don't  keer ! 

Den  in  fer  de  frolic  and  de  fun  to-day 

No  matter  what  he  promise,  nigger  don't  hatter  pay  — 

Nigger  have  a  easy  time  ever  whichaway  — 

Nigger  love  little  work  —  and  ve'y  much  play  ! 


68 


APRIL  RHYMES  AND  RIGMAROLES 

000000OO0000OOOOOOOG0O00OOQO0O000000G0GG000O00O0GG00O0O0O0OOG0O000 

\   H,  this  old  Roger  knows  his  race 
-^  ^     And  very  rightly  states  their  case: 
Never  a  thought  of  coming  morrow, 
Never  a  sigh  for  last  day's  sorrow 
Never  a  moment's  look  ahead, 
Never  a  tear  for  grief  that 's  sped. 
For  such  gay  hearts  an  April  Day 
Sets  old  jokes  out  in  new  array  ; 
So  let  them  laugh  and  laugh  away 
All  of  the  live-long  All  Fools'  Day! 


•69 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0©0©O©0O0©OQ©©GQ©0O^^ 


Chnes  in  Btjtte  Hanti 


©OiOoooooooooooo 


\    SUNSET  cold,  and  clear,  and  red, 
"*•          A  flock  of  black-birds  overhead, 
A  crisping  chill  in  all  the  air  — 
Sure  Jack  Frost  whispers  :   Have  a  care  I 
Ere  morning  comes  you  folks  will  see 
A  wreath  of  white  on  every  tree  ! 
The  geese  send  out  a  creaking  call, 
The  flock  of  guineas  huddling  squall,  - 
While  fifty  pigs  in  lot  and  pen 
Run  squealing,  pushing  round  old  Ben. 
Full  of  sweet  corn,  and  wheat  and  mast, 
They  little  think  to-day  their  last. 
Old  Master  steps  upon  the  porch  ; 
The  darkeys  hasten  to  approach. 
Each  hopes  to  hear :  "  To-morrow,  Ben, 
We  '11  clear  out  all  that  squealing  pen  !  " 
What  jubilee  those  words  would  send 
Through  all  the  place  from  hill  to  bend. 
From  out  of  every  cabin  door, 
From  quarter,  crib,  and  field  they  pour, 
Each  darkey's  face  spread  in  a  grin, 
"  Hog-killin'-times  is  come  ag'in  !  " 
70 


E    Uncle  Dew,  better  git  out  yo^  shawl, 
Ha!    Unc    Dew^fer  de  fros'  gwlne  falL 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES  IN  DIXIE  LAND 

GOOOOOO00OO000O0OO000OOOOOOOOOOOGOO00OQ000OG0OOQ00OOG00O0O0000OOOO 

The  jolliest  time  of  all  the  year, — 
Hard  work,  high  feed,  and  lusty  cheer  ! 
Old  master  calls  :  "  Come  up  here,  Dew  ! 
Sometimes  yo'  nigger-signs  come  true." 
Lo,  bent  with  weight  of  ninety  years, 
Old  Dew  in  front  the  crowd  appears  : 
Then  hear  his  lore  of  "  rats  in  walls," 
And  "  frosts  sho'  falls  when  guineas  squalls," 
When  "  sheeps  stand  close,  and  hosses  neigh," 
When  <£  chickens  roost  ere  close  of  day," 
When  "  birds  come  early  to  their  bough." 
He  don't  know  when,  or  where,  or  how 
He  learned  the  signs  he  utters  forth 
Of  chilling  blasts  to  blow  from  North. 
But  e'en  this  wisdom  can't  command 
Reverence  from  yonder  grinning  hand." 
Behind  the  crib  hear  Dazzle  sing, 
The  while  he  "  cuts  the  pigeon -wing"  : 


000000000000000© 


UNC  Dew  know  when  de  fros'  gwine  fall  ! 
Unc'  Dew  hear  dem  guineas  squall, 
Ole  Uncle  Dew,  better  git  out  yo'  shawl, 
Ha  !  Unc'  Dew,  fer  de  fros'  gwine  fall  ! 
73 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GOO0O0OO0G00O0G00G0OOGG000OOOG0OOO0OO000OO00OGGGOOOGOOG00OGO0OO0OO 

Pros'  put  sugar  in  de  punkin'-shell ! 
Fros'  make  de  'simmon  tas'e  so  well  ! 
Fros'  make  de  shoats  all  squeal  and  yell,  — 
Oh,  la  !   Honey  !     De  fros'  done  fell ! 

Sugar  in  de  gourd  and  can't  git  it  out, 
Dazzle  will  ef  you  let  him  shout  — 
String  up  de  gourd,  and  he  may,  and  he  mought 
Ring  dat  sugar  in  music  out ! 

Hi-ho  !  Jincy  !  now  for  jowl ! 
For  pig-foot  jelly  a-shakin'  in  de  bowl ! 
Yonder  Berkshire,  watch  him  roll ! 
Dat  pig  wof '  his  weight  in  gol '  ! 

Oh,  la!  Massa  when  de  pigs  be  kill 
Who  gwine  turn  dat  sausage-mill  ? 
Oh,  la  !    Mistis  !      Dazzle  will 
If  you  des  give  spare-ribs  to  his  fill  ! 


0000000O000000OO 


BUT  now  old  Dew  hints  best  to  wait  — 
He  "  ain't  seed  no  snow-birds  of  late," 
Also  "  he  ain't  begin  to  feel 
Dat  tetch  er  fros'-bite  in  his  heel." 
The  Master  thinks  a  bit,  then  :  "  No, 
We  won't  kill  hogs  to-morrow,  Jo!  " 
74 


•1 

m 

• 


0LD  Duncan  's  King  in  killiri'  times. 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES   IN  DIXIE   LAND 

00GO0OOOO0OOOOOGO00000GO00OGOOG0O0GGOOOGO0QG0GO000OGOQOOOOOOOOOOOO 

Then  on  all  faces  such  a  gloom 
Falls  as  this  were  most  direful  doom  — 
Dazzle  can  dance  and  sing  no  more, 
The  sad  news  spreads  from  door  to  door : 
"  Ole  Massa  say  we  ain't  gwine  kill, — 
Ef  us  don't  to-morrow  us  never  will.'* 
Each  "  hand  "  goes  slowly  to  his  work, 
With  more  than  half  a  will  to  shirk. 
But  down  the  east  a  crisper  blow 
Comes  to  make  bare  limbs  creak  and  sough, 
Comes  to  sweep  clean  the  winter  sky  : 
The  smoke  lines  stretch  up  straight  and  high, 
And  that  keen  sparkle  in  the  air 
Bespeaks  a  frost  heavy  and  fair. 
Hear!  from  the  Great  House  winds  the  horn: 
<c  Massa  done  change  sho'  as  you  born  !  " 
Cries  Dazzle  gaily  from  the  pen 
Where  he  's  been  toting  slops  with  Ben. 
From  every  cabin  now  they  run, 
Forty  good  "  hands  "  if  there  is  one  ! 
Here  they  come  tumbling  one  and  all 
To  hear  the  Overseer  call : 
"  Come  !   Git  to  work  !  We  're  goin'  to  kill ! 
Git  to  it  now  !     Work  with  a  will !  " 
But  see  Old  Duncan  comes  apace, 
77 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©0O00000000000000000000000000O00000OOO00000000000000000000000000QQ 

Pushing  among  the  crowd  a  place  — 
Old  Duncan  's  King  hog-killin'  time  ! 
That  season  Duncan's  work  is  prime  ! 

Massa,  ready  ?  Well  den  !  You,  Reason,  you  hitch  up 
de  young  oxen  to  de  ole  cyart,  go  'long  to  de  fur  swamp 
whar  you,  and  me,  and  Marse  Charlie  cut  dat  daid  pine- 
tree  a  year  ago  to  git  dat  fat  'possum,  —  hit's  lightwood ! 
Haul  up  ev'y  knot  of  hit.  You,  Reuben  !  run  down  to  de 
ten-acre  past'er  and  git  up  Dancer  and  Duke.  Hitch  up 
de  wagin,  and  go  fetch  up  a  three-thirds  load  of  hickory- 
bark  fum  de  new-ground  clearin'  by  river-bend.  'T ain't 
nothin'  '11  hold  fire  like  bark.  Boys,  go  to  choppin'  on  de 
cord-wood!  Whar  de  chile-minder?  Yond'  she!  Aunt 
Ailsey,  set  all  de  chillen  to  pickin'  up  chips  'ginst  mornin'. 
Us  gotter  clean  mos'  a  thousand  pound  of  meat  on  dat 
flatform  to-morrow.  Dar !  I  hear  de  ax-swing  and  de 
song-sing  now : 


©0O0000000O0000O 


,  de  cedar  tree  is  a  mighty  fine  tree, 
Fer  hit  grow  so  tall  and  hit  grow  so  free  ! 
But  she  feel  my  ax-blade  belt  her  round, 
Den  she  come  down  level  wid  de  ground  — 
Wid  de  ground  ! 
Wid  de  ground  ! 
78 


II/^HAR  de  chile-minder?     Yond*  she.     Aunt  Ailsey, 

set  all  de  chlllen  to  pickln    up  chips  'ginst  tomorrer  — 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES   IN   DIXIE  LAND 

©©00O00000000000000000O00000000000000000O0000000000000000000000000 

A  notch  out  de  dog-wood  !  What  you  'bout  ! 
You  grow  so  thick  and  you  stand  so  stout, 
But  when  my  ax  go  whick  !  go  whack  ! 
Den  Mister  Dog-wood  's  on  his  back  — 

Go  whick  !   Go  whack  ! 

Go  whick  !   Go  whack  ! 

I  'm  mighty  sorry  dem  niggers  got  a  dog-wood  to  cut  for 
de  hog-killin'  ;  dat  ain't  de  tree  to  cut  for  jobly  times  like 
dis.  You,  Toby,  how  many  plow-shares  in  de  side-shed  ? 
Fetch  out  all  de  ole  iron.  Set  fire  to  de  log-pile.  Stick  in 
de  ole  iron.  Let  'em  git  red-hot  'ginst  mornin'.  You, 
boys  !  Is  you  got  dat  hogshead  buried  in  de  ground  ? 
Dat  sho'  is  a  big  barrel,  but  it  ain't  too  big  !  Give  it  a 
slant  on  de  off-side.  Dat  's  it  !  Nobody  can  beat  Duncan 
at  de  hog-killin'  !  Fill  de  pots  wid  water.  Let  all  be 
bilin'  time  day  break.  I  hear  dem  boys  at  de  cord-wood 
at  dere  singin'  ag'in  : 


O0000000O0O0OOO0 


!  a  ring  dis  year,  and  a  ring  las'  year  ! 
And  a  ring  all  time  for  de  oak-tree  heah  ! 
But  when  my  ax  go  ring-a-cling  ! 
Den  all  her  rings  away  she  fling  ! 
Cling-a-ling  ! 
Ring-a-cling  ! 
6  81 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GOOOOGOOOGGOOOOOOOOGOOGGOGGOOOOOOGOOGXDOOOOOGOOGOQOOOeOQOGOQGOGOOOG 

Oh,  de  beech  say  de  pigs  eat  all  er  de  mast, 
De  beech  say  dey  greedy,  dey  eat  so  fas' ; 
But  now,  Mister  Beech-tree,  you  can  burn, 
Fer  every  one  can  have  his  turn  : 

Den  le  's  burn  — 

Pig  to  a  turn  ! 


00GG0OOOO00O0OOG 


\   ND  now  the  wagon  comes  with  pine, 
•*•  -^  And  now  the  pots  are  set  in  line ; 
The  platform  stands  out  new  and  white ; 
The  log-heaps  burn  with  cheery  light. 
At  every  open  cabin-door, 
Out  which  the  ruddy  fire-lights  pour, 
Some  old  crone  sits  and  scrubs  a  pot 
For  cooking  melts,  chitlin's,  —  what  not! 
Ah,  the  good  cheer  to-morrow  '11  bring 
Is  fit  e'en  for  Dahomy's  King ! 
Yet  each  old  crone  will  tell  a  story 
Of  better  times  and  greater  glory, 
For  e'en  old  days  looked  back  to  better  — 
And  old  folks'  tales  are  ne'er  lost  letter. 
A  little  rest,  a  little  sleep, 
Then  soon  as  Sol  begins  to  peep 
82 


are  at  de  ax  swing  and  de  song  sing  now  — 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES  IN  DIXIE  LAND 

O00OG0OO0OOOOO0OO00G0Q0O0O0000OGO000O0O000GOOOGOOGGO0O00O0OO0OGOOG 

Athrough  the  rosying  eastern  sky 

Slumber  has  fled  from  every  eye. 

Out  of  the  doors  Old  Duncan's  call 

Brings  from  the  cabins  great  and  small. 

The  pigs  are  no  more  pets  to  swill 

From  trough  and  pail  their  greedy  fill,  — 

They  're  now  but  pounds  of  pork  to  kill. 

Food  for  the  block  and  sausage-mill. 

Old  Duncan  orders  all  about 

With  loud  command  and  lusty  shout. 

Empty  dem  bilin'  pots  inter  dat  hogshead  buried  half  in 
de  ground  yonder.  Hot  'nough  ?  Now.  Bring  up  dem 
red-hot  plow-shares.  Shove  one  in  de  barrel.  Hear  how 
de  water  sing  !  Dis  is  de  best  time  to  kill  meat,  des  'fo' 
Christmas,  —  meat  is  sweeter  kilt  den.  Also  we  must  kill 
in  de  dark  of  de  moon  so  dat  de  meat  will  wax  in  de  sto'- 
room  and  in  de  kitchen  as  de  moon  wax.  Ef  meat  is  kill 
in  de  light  of  de  moon  it  will  wane  as  de  moon  wane,  it  will 
swink  in  de  pot  as  hit 's  cookin'.  Water  hot  'nough  ? 
Yas.  Bring  up  de  hog !  Fust  kill'  to-day  !  Wonder 
what  he  weigh.  Dash  him  in  de  barrel !  Fling  him  on 
de  flatform  !  Begin  de  cleanin'  —  Now,  boys  !  start  yo' 
song: 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Tit  7HOLE  hog  or  none  is  de  word  I  sing ! 

*          Come  'long,  niggers,  'nudder  one  bring,  — 
A  whole  hog !  a  half  hog  !  a  no  hog  at  all ! 
'Less  us  have  a  white  fros'  early  in  de  fall  ! 

A  fat  side,  a  lean  side,  a  no  side  at  all ! 
'Less  hog  and  hominy  sets  in  de  hall ! 
Come,  niggers,  fetch  in  de  shakin'-jelly-bowl  ! 
Streaks  er  lean,  streaks  er  fat  down  de  hog-jowl. 

Sage  in  de  gyarden,  pig  in  de  pen, 
Dry  yo'  sage  in  summer  time,  — and  Oh,  la  !  den, 
A  hog  fer  ev'y  growed  hand,  a  hog  fer  ev'y  chile  ! 
Dat  make  de  winter  seem  very  light  and  mil'  ! 

Oh,  de  ham  meat  hit's  sweet  meat,  de  bes'  meat  of  all. 
Massa  mind  de  kitchen  whilst  you  eat  in  de  hall  — 
Leave  me  de  back-bone,  dough  hit  be  small  : 
Save  me  de  back-bone  or  save  me  none  at  all  ! 

My  massa  raise  me  on  hog  and  hominy  — 
Dat  howcome  I  likely  and  jobly,  as  you  see ! 
Now  massa  turn  de  raisin'  o'er  to  me  — 
He  sets  me  to  raisin'  hog  and  hominy  ! 

Bring  up  anudder  hog!      Mo'   hot  iron  heah!      I   see  de 
womens    got    dere    pots    out   a' ready.      Lawsy  !      Yonder 

86 


ER  T  old  crone  sets  a  pot  — 


HOG-KILLIN'    TIMES    IN    DIXIE   LAND 

000000000000O00000000000000000000000000000000000000000O000  ©0000000 

Aunt  Joanna  come  down  from  de  Great  House  to  be  head 
taster.  Um-hum  !  'T  ain't  often  Aunt  Joanna  '11  mix  wid 
us  fiel'-niggers  !  De  chillen  a'ready  beggin'  fer  pig-tails  to 
roast  in  de  ashes  !  White  chillen,  black  chillen,  all  beggin' 
fer  hog-bladders  fer  to  make  balloons.  Whoop  up, 
niggers  ! 

00OO000OOOOO00O© 


F  I^HE  day  goes  on  with  maddening  whir, 
-*-      It's  kill,  and  cut,  and  grind,  and  stir, 
Ailsey,  and  Judy,  Locket,  Lu, 
Critty,  and  Creecy,  Nicy,  too, 
Have  taken  each  a  pot  or  pan 
To  stew  sweet-breads  ;  while  old  Aunt  Ann 
Cooks  brains,  or  kidneys,  or  an  ear, — 
Rich  odors  wafting  far  or  near, 
Of  liver  fried  or  chitlin's  broiled, 
Or  roasting  chines,  or  pig-foot  boiled, 
Or  crackling-bread  upon  the  hoe  — 
How  rich  and  brown  the  steaming  dough  ! 
Others  are  making  scrapple,  souse,  — 
Oh  !    this  the  round  year's  best  carouse  ! 
E'en  Christmas  coming  on  apace, 
With  Twelfth  Night,  New  Year  in  the  race, 
Will  find  it  hard  ado  to  beat  — 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

00000000000000000GOG0000GO©00©00©0G000©000GG000G00GOOOOOOGe00000©0 

"  Hog-killin'  times,  so  rich,  so  neat !  " 

And  to  hear  Dazzle  gaily  sing 

Of  the  rich  things  those  seasons  bring : 


©Q0OO©QQ©QOQGG00 


turkey  good,  de  turkey  fat, 
And  ole  Brer'  Possum  fatter  ! 
But  tell  me,  Honey,  what  can  tas  'e 
Like  pig-foot  fried  in  batter ! 

Dat  Pickin'  time  's  a  very  good  time, 

And  Ginnin'  time  is  better  ! 
But  if  any  time  's  good  as  hog-killin'  time  — 

Why  !  des  send  me  a  letter  ! 

When  Christmas  comes  de  eatin  's  good, 

Wid  egg-nogg  in  de  bowl,  oh ! 
But  whar  can  you  find  dat  eatin'  rich 

As  a  streaked  slice  er  jowl,  oh! 

A  Johnny-cake  's  a  very  good  cake, 

'Special  roast  in  ashes  ! 
But  what  so  good  as  cracklin'  bread 

When  de  bread-hoe  fires  and  flashes  ! 

90 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES  IN   DIXIE  LAND 

0000000000000O0O00O0000O0OO0OO0O0OO0OOO0OOG0O00O0OOO0OO0OOOGOO00O0 

Oh,  Christmas  time  is  a  jobly  time. 

And  "  Christmas  GiP  "  is  jolly  - 
But  a  red-hot  stchew  of  marrow-chine 

Is  good  enough  for  Holly  ! 

And  New  Year  is  a  happy  time 

Ef  de  sides  are  down  in  salt,  oh  ! 
But  ef  you  find  no  time  as  good  as  dis  time  — - 

Why  !   you  can't  find  any  fault,  oh  ! 

Oh,  de  whole  hog  rich,  and  de  whole  hog  fine ! 

But  kill,  and  cut,  and  cure  him  ! 
Dar 's  sausage,  lard,  and  ribs,  and  chine  — 

Twel  you  hardly  can  endure  him  ! 


OGXD00O0OOO000000 


SO  goes  the  busy  jolly  day 
Till  skies  are  red,  then  gold,  then  gray, 
The  porkers  hang  all  ghostly  white, 
Strung  on  a  line  in  the  dark  night, 
Each  on  its  whittled  gambrel-stick, 
Each  one  so  weighty,  smooth,  and  slick. 
Duncan  and  Frank  beside  a  pot 
Of  coffee,  rich,  golden,  and  hot, 
Are  set  to  watch  the  night  go  by 
91 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0O0000G000O00G00GOO0OO00OOGOO00O0OOOOOO0000OO00O00QOOOO00QGGO0OOG0 

To  see  that  no  harm  comes  anigh 
The  fatted  wealth  that  dangles  high. 
As  Duncan  stirs  the  rosy  ashes 
From  which  c<  roast  'tater"  odor  flashes, 
He  sings  an  old  plantation  song, 
Rolling  the  jolly  notes  along  : 

0000000000000000 

RINKTUM!  rinktum!  rinktum !  ro  ! 
What's  de  sweetest  root  dat  grow ! 
De  yam,  I  say  !      Do  you  say  so  ? 
Brer'  Possum  say  he  do  not  know  ! 
Oh,  ho  !     Yo  !  ho  ! 

Rinktum  !  rinktum  !  rinktum  !  ro  ! 
Des  roast  it  in  de  ashes,  —  so  ! 
And  watch  how  far  its  good  smell  go, 
Den  eat  'em  up  !     Good  potato  ! 
Oh,  ho!     Yo!  ho! 

Rinktum  !  rinktum  !  rinktum  !  ro  ! 
Us  watch  all  night.      Us  sleep  ?   Oh,  no  ! 
Us  eat  de  roast  potato,  —  so  ! 
Don't  mind  de  cole,  so  wind  don't  blow  ! 
Oh,  ho!     Yo!  ho! 
92 


HOG-KILLIN'  TIMES  IN  DIXIE  LAND 

000OO0000000OOO00OO0OOOO0O0000OOOO000G00O000OO0OO0OGOO0O000O00OO0O 

SO  the  hog-killin'  time  is  o'er, 
A  jovial  time  in  days  of  yore  ! 
Its  homely  glory  all  is  fled, 
Its  jollity  named  with  the  dead  — 
Lost  with  the  things  of  long  ago. 
We  fit  ourselves  to  new  time,  —  though 
The  olden  days  we  ne'er  forget. 
Ah,  tempora  mutantur,,  et 
Nos  mutamur  in  illis.     True,  — 
So  we  mav  love  both  Old  and  New. 


93 


PLANTATION     SONGS 

000000000000000000Q00Q00G.00000000000000000000Q00000000Q00000000000 


^assmg  of  jftammp 


©0O0000O0000O000 


say  that  Mammy  is  dying  ? 
My  dear  old  Mammy  Jo  ! 
Why  did  n't  you  come  for  me,  Rosser, 
Ever  so  long  ago  ? 
Come,  Jubal,  saddle  my  pony 
And  bring  her  round  quick  to  the  block. 
You  say  she  is  in  your  cabin 
Away  beyond  Blue  Rock. 
Have  you  been  very  good  to  her,  Rosser  ? 
She  's  your  only  mother,  you  know. 
I  wish  she  had  stayed  here  with  us  — 
So,  Jeanie,  so,  pony,  so-o-o-o-o  — 
Now  start  on,  Rosser,  and  ride 
Ahead  just  to  show  us  the  road. 
Here  are  all  the  good  things  in  the  basket; 
That  's  right,  a  pretty  good  load." 

How  fresh  the  Spring  air  in  the  Maytime, 
How  pungently  sweet  the  pines  — 
How  golden  the  millions  and  millions 
Of  bells  on  the  jessamine-vines. 
94 


'T'HE  cabin  away  beyond  Blue  Rock. 


THE    PASSING    OF    MAMMY 

0000000O00OOO00O0OO080O00030O00O00OOOO00QQQ0Q000O0OO0OOOQOOOOG0OOO 

Ah,  there  in  the  dusky  cabin. 
With  the  smouldering  "  chunks  "  on  the  hearth. 
Reached  the  dark  old  arms  that  had  clasped  her, 
Loved,  tended,  and  held  her  from  birth. 

"You,  Babsey,  —  you  Til'  gal  !     You  Petsey  ! 
You  is  done  come  to  Mam'  Jo  ! 
De  niggers  all  say  you  would  n't, 
I  tole  'em  you  would  :   Des  so  ! 
Di'n't  you  useter  leave  yo'  Ma 
When  I  'd  call  you  to  come  ?  —  ho-ho  ! 
Dat  useter  make  Mistis  mos'  cry 
To  see  how  you  'd  come  when  I  'd  call  — 
c  I  do  b'lieve  de  chile  love  you,  Jo, 
Mo'  'n  me  and  her  Pa,  and  all  ! ' 
Oh,  Honey,  de  ole  times  is  banished, 
Gone  whar  de  ole  times  go, 
Us  don't  know  whar  dey  be  vanished, 
Des  know  dey  don't  come  no  mo'. 
You  sorry  I  lef  you  all,  HT  Miss  ? 
Well  —  I  gwine  lef'  dem  all  now  — 
Go's  Rosser  was  des  a  nigger, 
But  den  he  was  mine,  anyhow. 
Dis  cough  —  No'm  —  No  doctor  —  No  money  — 
But  don't  you  fret  'bout  dat,  chile, 
7  97 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

O0GOO0O0G0O0OOOOO0OO000OOGG0O00OG0000O000O0O00OO0O000GOGOOGGG00O0O 

God's  will  cyarn't  be  stopped  no  way.  Honey, 
And  us  all  bound  to  go  somewhile. 

"  I  sont  fer  you  now,  liT  Lady 
(I  done  miss  you  so  all  dese  years), 
Fer  to  ax  you  to  meet  me  in  Glory, — 
I  gwine  miss  you  dar,  too,  I  fears, 
Dis  black  preacher  heah  to  Swamp  Church 
He  says  no  white  pusson  cyarn't  go 
Nairy  bit  way  furder  in  Heaven 
Dan  de  ve'y  outermos'  do'. 
But  I  'm  gwine  ax  de  Good  Master 
To  — c  Please,  Sah  ! '  —  des  let  you  in  ! 
'Case  I  don't  wanter  go  'long  feruvver 
Missin'  you  so  ag'in. 
I  know  you  cyarn't  have  much  'ligion 
'Caze  you  ain't  never  had  no  chance, 
But  de  Lord  won't  be  hard  on  you,  Honey, 
When  I  tell  him  des  way  things  advance  — 
You  al'a's  had  so  much  er  money, 
And  no  trouble  to  draw  you  nigh 
(Who  ?  —  my  ole  Massa's  Gran'chile  ; 
Troubles  'bleeged  to  pass  her  by  !), 
And  you  al'a's  had  gracious  plenty 
Of  mighty  good  things  to  eat. 
98 


and  de  Baby  Chile, 


THE    PASSING    OF    MAMMY 

0000000O000000000O000000003300300030000003000000000000000000000000 

Naw  !  you  don't  know  how  quick,  my  darlin', 

Honger  '11  draw  you  right  down  to  God's  feet. 

Some  mornin's,  when  I  does  so  miss 

My  sugar  and  coffee  or  tea, 

I  hatter  wrestle  in  prayer  some  hours 

'Fo'  my  stomach  and  soul  '11  agree  — 

Oh,  yas  —  yas  —  Honey  !   Byelo-o-o  — 

Singing 

"  You  HT  Lady,  bye,  — lo-bye- 
Shet  yo'  liT  sleepy  eye, 

Mammy  gwine  fetch  you  a  dream  by-m-by  — 
Way  fum  de  moon  dat  float  so  high. 
Mammy  gwine  fetch  you  a  nice  liT  dream  — 
De  way  things  are  and  de  way  dey  seem.  — 
Bye,  my  pretty  liT  baby,  you, 
Sleepin'  sof'ly  now,  fer  true  — 
Hush  — 'sh  — 's-h-h  — 

"  Eh  ?  Whar  was  I  ?   I  thought  I  was  gone  — 
Sho'  my  ears  caught  de  plenteous  sound, 
De  rollin'  of  Jorden's  deep  waters, 
Cross  which  my  soul  is  bound  — 
Nummine,  my  Honey,  yo'  Mammy  '11 
Wait  fer  you  right  clost  to  de  Gate  — 

101 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GOOGG©0©GGO©O0©0OOO©OO©OOCXI)GGG©G0QG©©0O00000O000OOGOOOOO00O©0OOOO0 

She'  11  stay  dar  waiting  liT  Missy, 

Nummine  ef  hit  do  be  late. 

And  I  '11  ax  de  Good  Lord  :  f  Please,  Sah  !  Massa  ! 

Des  give  my  liT  Missy  a  seat, 

And  some  nice  liT  gol'en  slippers,'  — 

Fit  yo'  neat  liT  feet ; 

And  a  gol'en  crown  fer  you,  Lady  ! 

Ef  /  ax  him  he  '11  fix  you  up  right  — 

Dough  you  is  —  Mammy's  liT  Lady  - 

Dough  you  is  —  only  —  des  white." 


102 


DE    SIGHT    OF    UNC'    SOL 

©000000G00000O0OOGO0(^00G0000GOO0QOO00GGG0GGOOG0OG00OGGOQ0000GG©OO 


Be  ^t)t  of 


0000000000000000 

US  all  had  done  met  at  St.  Abel's  Church 
To  bury  Unc'  Solomon  Ring, 
His  folks  done  holler,  and  moan,  and  fell  out, 
And  done  mos'  ev'ything, 
'Case  Uncle  Sol  was  a  mighty  ole  man  — 
He  said  two  hund'ard  and  two  :  — 
He  was  a  chunk  of  a  boy  when  de  stars  all  fell 
Hoein'  his  row  fer  true. 
Dey  laid  him  out  in  a  mighty  fine  coat, 
Folks  said  'twas  ole  Massa's  Gran'pa's 
Den  dey  done  had  us  all  at  Meetin'  ag'in 
To  hear  how  his  funeral  was. 
Us  thought  us  done  heard  de  las'  of  Unc'  Sol 
When  de  big  Spring  'Vival  come  ; 
Lord,  de  way  dat  Preacher  open  wid  pray'r 
Was  'nough  to  give  tongue  to  de  dumb. 
But  ev'ything  'peared  to  fall  sorter  flat,  — 
De  folks  wa'n't  easy  to  'cite  ; 
Us  feared  de  'Stracted  Meetin'  'ud  fail 
Dat  ve'y  fust  Wilderness  Night. 
But  des  as  things  was  de  mo'es'  dull 

103 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0O00000000000Q000000000OG00OO0OOOO00000O0G0OO0O0O0G00OOO000G0O0GO0 

Up  rose  Unc'  'Ronymus  Dan. 

He  cl'ar  his  th'oat,  and  he  riz  his  hand. 

And  he  call  to  dat  Preacher  Man : 

"  Brother,  kin  I  speak  onct,  des  onct,  to  de  Member  Band?" 

"  Speak  up,  my  friend,"  de  Preacher  say.    "  I  see  de  wavin' 

er  trees, 
But  de  Members  look  cole  in  de  Lord's  gyarden, 

And  I  think  dat  a  early  freeze 
Must  'a'  cotch  and  nip  de  whole  fruit-crap 

Upon  dese  same  cole  trees." 
"  I  was  off  on  a  vigil  las'  night,"  says    ole  Dan  ; 
"  And  my  vigil  swept  fur  and  wide, 
I  had  a  mighty  high  wall  to  climb, 
Wid  heaven  on  t'  o'her  side. 
De  wall  was  straight,  and  de  wall  was  slick, 
An  de  wall  was  very  tall  —  " 
Here  some  of  de  members  dey  riz  a  groan 
Which  de  Preacher  ain't  brung  at  all. 
"  Dar  was  nairy  a  notch,  nor  nairy  a  crotch 
In  de  whole  er  de  height  er  de  wall, 
But  I  hung  half-way,  —  an'  de  fire  —  Sisters  ! 
Was  des  beneath  !  "     "  O  Brer,  don't  fall !  " 
"  So  I  dumb  by  de  eens  of  rny  fingers  and  toes, 
Crawlin'  up  like  a  young  'possum  do  —  " 
"  Urn-hum  !  "  "  Good  truf !  "  "  Go  up,  Brer  Dan  !  " 

104 


sat  right  side  of  de  'lasses  pool  —  " 


DE    SIGHT    OF    UNC'    SOL 

<D00O©000000OOOOOGOO00GO0OOOOOOOOO0O0O0OOO0G0O0©O0©0OOO0OO0O0OG0OGO 

De  members  was  warmin'  fer  true. 

"  So,  scratchin'  and  climbin',  I  retched  de  top  ! 

Den  !  Sisters  !   De  view  inside  !  " 

(Um-hum  ! ) 
"  De  past'er  fiel's  dey  was  green  and  was  wide," 

(Um-hum  ! ) 
"And  I  seed  Uncle  Solomon  Ring," 

(Um-hum  ! ) 
"  He  had  de  bes'  seat  dat  heaven  could  bring  !  " 

(Um-hum  ! ) 
"  He  sat  by  de  side  of  de  'lasses-pool  —  " 

(My  Lord!) 
<c  'Lasses  made  by  de  ve'y  bes'  ole  time  rule  —  " 

(Hey-yeh  ! ) 
"  And  rollin'  wide  in  a  rtth,  sweet  pool  —  " 

(Um-hum  ! ) 

<c  De  pool  was  rich  and  sweet  and  wide  — 
And  de  pretties'  Fritter-Tree  grew  beside — " 

(Dar!) 

"  Uncle  Sol  sat  under  dat  Fritter  Tree, 
Whar  fritters  hung  thick  as  leaves  do  be ; 
When  he  hongry  he  des  hatter  retch  up,  I  see, 
And  grab  a  good  handful  offer  dat  tree 
And  eat  as  commojious  as  'mojious  could  be, 
Des  dippin'  dem  fritters  right  into  dat  pool 

107 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GOG00O0OOOO00OOG00O000O0GOG0GG<DOQOOO0G0O00OOGOOGG0OO00OO0000GG0^ 

And  soppin'  and  eatin'  away  in  de  cool ! " 

(Um-hum  ! ) 

Oh,  den,  sah  !  dat  Preacher  he  snatch  up  dat  word, 
And  fer  groanin'  and  moanin'  he  scurce  could  be  heard, 
He  'zorted  de  members  to  try  fer  dat  seat  — 
And  he  'low  in  all  heaven  hit  couldn't  be  beat, 

De  seat  of  Unc'  Solomon  Ring  ! 
'T  was  de  bigges'  Meetin'  dat  ever  has  been  ; 
Dat  Preacher  he  pitched  into  ole  Father  Sin  ! 
'T  was  de  'Stractedest  Meetin'  us  ever  is  had, 
Three  weeks  us  riz  good,  and  trompled  on  bad. 

All  'count  of  Unc'  Solomon  Ring  ! 
At  las'  de'  Vancin'  Men  come  fum  de  town  and  said 
Dat  Meetin'  obleeged  to  stop  ! 
'Caze  if  niggers  kept  singin'  and  'zortin'  all  night 
How  is  dey  gwine  raise  any  crop  ? 
Dey  say  ef  Saint  Abel  dat  Meetin'  didn't  drop, 
Dey  say  meat-advances  sho'ly  would  stop, 
And  all  de  meal-bags  'ud  git  empty  and  flop, 
'Longer  Unc'  Solomon  Ring  — 
Us  hatter  quit  singin'  and  'zortin'  fer  sho'  — 
But  you  know  dat  made  niggers  long  all  de  mo' 
Fer  Unc'  Solomon's  ledjurely,  heavenly  sto'  — 
And  dat  blessed  land  whar  de  Fritter  Tree  grow, 

Fer  ole  Unc'  Solomon  Ring. 
108 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

©0O000000000000OO0000000O00000000000O000000000000000000O0000000000 


<®t  Cfje  Black  BSeit 


000000O000000000 


ARK  are  the  churches  that  dot  the  Black  Belt, 
Dark  with  the  painting  of  weather  and  time  ; 
Clumsily  built  of  heaviest  hewn  logs 

Grown  long  ago  in  the  rich  Southern  clime. 

Not  here  are  columns  of  marble  or  stone, 
Brush-wood  tent  here  is  the  quaint  portico  ; 

No  chime  of  bells  here  summon  the  worshipper 
Only  the  beat  of  the  Sweep,  —  clear  and  slow. 

Yet  these  dark  churches  enfold  a  fair  jewel 
That  to  the  Dark  Race  shall  ever  belong ; 

Appanage  savage  and  slave-days  bequeathed  them 
Treasure  of  wild,  sweet,  exuberant  song. 

Songs  that  they  sing  at  their  "  Wilderness  Feas'," 

"Moans"   that  to  "Moves"   of  the  "Members  "  ring 

true, 
Chants  for  the  weird  rite  of"  Feedin'  de  Sheep," 

Wild  hymns  of  joy  when  "  De  Seekers  come  th'oo." 

1 1 1 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000© 

"Ballets"  to  time  with  their  joyous  "Hand  Clappin'," 
"  Lead  Songs,"  and  "  Follers,"  and  "  Spirituelles." 

Ah  !  —  from  the  dimness  of  dusky  old  churches 
Rich,  clear,  and  loud,  the  melody  swells. 

0000000000000000 

HYMN    OF   THE   DEAD 
SOMEBODY  dead  in  the  graveyard, 

And  somebody  dead  in  the  sea  — 
Gwine  to  wake  up  and  shout  in  de  mornin', 
And  sing  dat  jubilee  ! 

Roll,  Jorden,  roll  — 
Sister,  you  oughter  been  dar 

To  hear  dat  river  roll  ; 
You  oughter  been  shout  in  de  Kingdom 
To  hear  dat  water  roll. 

O  father  dat 's  kilt  wid  a  bullet, 

And  brother  dat 's  cyarved  wid  a  knife 
Yo'  woun'  '11  be  heal  some  mornin' 
When  you  git  ter  de  Land  of  Life  — 

Roll,  Jorden,  roll  ! 
Dar 's  nairy  a  tow  nor  tug-boat 

To  cross  dat  river's  roll, 
I  wanter  go  'crost  in  a  calm  time 
For  Jorden's  chilly  and  cole. 

I  12 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

GGO0O0OO00OO0OOGO0O00OO0O0O00000GOG00OOO0OGGOOGGOOOO0GGGGOOGO0OOG0 

O  chillen  dat's  burnt  in  de  cabins 

Whilst  dere  mammies  air  out  in  de  fiel', 
And  chillen  dat  hears  de  Death-Call 
Whilst  dey  be  dancin'  a  reel  — 

Roll,  Jorden,  roll ! 
On  Jorden's  bank  dey  '11  stan' 

To  hear  dat  water  roll ! 
Better  aim  now  fer  Canaan's  lan'3 
O  chillen,  fer  Canaan's  Ian.' 

O  sister,  dat 's  swingin'  wid  a  fever, 

And  sister  dat 's  trimblin'  wid  a  chill, 
Gwine  be  a  Love-Feas'  to-morrer, 
You  better  had  drink  yo'  fill : 
Roll,  Jorden,  roll  — 
Dar  's  nairy  a  skiff*  for  de  sinner 

To  'scape  dat  water's  roll, 
Nairy  a  boat  nor  dug-out 
To  save  a  sinner's  soul. 

O  dem  what's  pizen  wid  conjure, 

And  dem  dat 's  bit  by  a  snake, 
Dar  's  comin'  a  time  to-morrer 

For  you  to  turn  over  and  wake. 
Roll,  Jorden,  roll  ! 

3  113 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

OG0O000OG0OO0000OOO0000000OO0O0O000000OOGOO00000O0OOOO0000O0OOGO0O 

Brother,  you  hatter  wade  in. 

When  you  retch  dat  water's  roll 
You  leave  yer  body's  laden 

Des  on  dis  t'  o'her  sho'. 

O  mammy  dat  drag  at  de  plow-handle. 

And  mammy  dat  drap  at  de  hoe, 
When  you  walk  up  de  ladder  to  heaven 
You  won't  hatter  work  no  mo'  — 

Roll,  Jorden,  roll ! 
Mammy,  go  over  dry  shod. 

When  you  hear  dem  waters  roll  — 
Oh,  you  '11  sho'ly  go  shoutin'  to  Glory 
Across  dat  river's  roll. 


00000O000000O000 


SINGIN'    ON    BETHLEHEM    ROAD 

PEN  dem  do's  and  let  me  in  — 

Free  from  my  sorrer  and  free  from  my  sin  ! 
I  am  a-gwine  to  Bethlehem, 
Gwine  to  meet  Marse  Canaan  and  Shem, 
Gwine  to  fit  on  de  shoes  of  John, 
Oh,  so  easy  I  slipped  'em  on. 

114 


1  r 


> 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

GQGGGG00GGGGGGGG00000OGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG000GGG000000O00G000O00000 

Gwine  my  road  in  de  mornin' ! 

0  Chillen  !     Dat  Mornin'  ! 

De  music  of  dat  Heavenly  Band 
Sound  so  sweet  in  de  mornin'  ! 

Gwine  th'oo  to  Bethlehem 

Gwine  meet  Moses,  and  Aaron,  and  dem  — 

Gwine  rise  up  when  de  trumpet  soun', 

Gwine  put  on  de  shine-line-gown  ! 

For  I  profess  dat  I  do  right, 

1  confess  my  sins  in  de  Members'  sight, 
Gwine  my  road  in  de  mornin'  ! 

O  Chillen  !     Dat  Mornin'  ! 

De  singin'  in  dat  Heavenly  Land 

Sound  so  sweet  in  de  mornin'  ! 


©GGGGGGGGGGG000© 


HYMN    OF    REPENTANCE 

TF  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  de  Bridegroom  come, 

••-          If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  He  come  ! 

My  feet  would  grow  so  weary  and  my  heart  begin  to  sink, 

For  de  worl'  would  be  only  des  hangin'  on  de  brink, 
If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  He  come  ! 

117 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0000000000000000GGGOOOOOGOG000000G00000000000000000000000000000000 

If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  de  Bridegroom  come, 

If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  He  come ! 
If  my  banjo  was  a-talkin'  when  de  worl'  begin  to  quake, 

If  my  banjo  was  a-talkin'  den  my  soul  'd  'gin  to  shake, 
If  my  banjo  was  a-talkin'  when  He  come  ! 

If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  de  Bridegroom  come, 

If  I  was  in  de  ball-room  when  He  come  ! 
If  my  seekin'  had  not  found,  if  my  soul  was  not  unbound  ! 

If  my  feet  was  not  planted  on  de  solid  ground  ! 
Oh,  I  want  ter  be  fixed  when  He  come  — 
Hallelujah  !- 
Yas  — 

Yas  — 
Yas. 

0000000000000000 

SONG   OF   THE    LITTLE    CHILDREN 

T     ITTLE  children,  I  believe  ! 
*^     Been  long  time  waggin'  wid  de  cross, 
Been  long  time  shakin'  wid  de  fros', 
Been  long  time  lingerin'  and  los'  — 
But  now,  little  children,  I  believe  ! 
Then  now,  little  children,  don't  yer  grieve. 
118 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

303333333300000000O003333333333333333303333333330O00000Q0O0  ©000000 

Little  children,  I  believe  ! 
My  heart's  done  bud  and  bloom, 
My  body  is  ready  for  de  tomb, 
My  soul  kin  pass  th'oo  de  gloom. 
For  now,  little  children  I  believe  ! 
My  soul  de  good  news  done  receive  ! 

Little  children,  I  believe  ! 

My  golden  shoes  are  on  my  feet, 

My  starry  crown  fit  so  neat, 

My  tongue  is  chuned  to  sing  so  sweet  — 

Fer  now,  little  children,  I  believe  ! 

And  my  soul's  white  robe  is  weave  ! 

00OOO00OO000000© 

WARNIN'    HYMN 

OTARS  and  de  elements  a-fallin', 
^      De  moon  in  blood  drips  away  : 
Yonder  's  de  Angel  a-callin' 
De  sheep  in  de  fold  dis  day  ! 

Sinner  !   Sinner  !     Whar  will  yer  stand 

When  de  rocks  begin  to  melt, 

And  de  earth  begin  to  shake, 

And  dar  ain't  no  solid  land  ? 
119 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©©O0O0O000O00OOO0OO0OOO00OGO0OOOO00000OOO0OOOOO000OO0O00O000Q0OG0O 

When  de  rocks  begin  to  melt, 
And  de  stars  air  swept  away. 
And  de  hail  begins  to  pelt 
And  de  sinner  cannot  pray  — 

Oh,  den,  Hypocrit,  whar  will  you  stand 

When  de  trees  begin  to  cry, 

And  de  hills  begin  to  quake, 

And  de  solid  earth  's  quicksand, — 

When  de  trees  begin  to  cry, 
And  de  limbs  begin  to  swink 
And  de  leaves  dey  fall  to  nothin' 
'Caze  de  earth  is  des  a  brink  ? 

Oh,  den,  Seeker-man,  whar  will  you  stand 

When  de  sheep  is  on  de  right 

And  de  goats  is  on  de  left 

And  dey  '11  never  run  no  mo'  in  a  band? 

When  de  sheep  is  on  de  right 

And  de  goats  is  on  de  left 

And  dey  '11  never  run  together  any  mo', 

Fer  de  Seeker  's  found  a  cleft  — 

But  de  Sinner!   Sinner!   De  Sinner's  rockin'  loose 

And  de  Mourner  's  got  a  seat, 

And  de  Member  's  got  a  crown, 

But  de  Hypocrit  's  rockin'  loose. 


I  20 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

GO0O0000O00O000O000OOO0GO00OO0OO000O0OO00O00000OGO00OQOO0O000OQGOO 

SONG   OF   THE    STORM 

T   WONDER  what  de  thunder  grumblin'  about : 
-*-      Hit  chain  to  a  cloud  and  can't  git  out ; 
I  wonder  what  de  lightenin'  gwine  to  do  — 
Slashin'  out  a  hole  and  try  ter  git  th'oo  : 

O  my  soul  !     Try  to  be  bole  — 

You  gotter  hear  how  Jorden  roll  ! 

I  wonder  why  de  winds  air  rollin'  roun'  : 

Dey  roll  high  up  and  dey  roll  low  down  — 

I  wonder  why  de  waters  rush  and  roar ; 

Is  dey  retchin'  fer  de  Ark  and  good  ole  Noah? 
O  my  soul  !     Try  to  be  bole  — 
For  you  'bleeged  to  hear  how  Jorden  roll ! 

I  wonder  what  de  wile  trees  weepin'  for, 
Bendin'  to  de  Souf  and  bendin'  to  de  Nor* : 
Is  dey  cryin'  'caze  de  storm  do  strip  dey  leaves 
'Stroyin'  all  de  work  dat  de  Summer  weaves  — 
O  my  soul !     Try  to  be  bole  — 
You  can't  get  outer  hearin'  how  Jorden  roll ! 

I  wonder  why  de  rains  air  sweepin'  so  : 

Dey  sweepin'  out  a  place  fer  de  new  rainbow, 

121 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

e00OO0O000©0O0000OOO000G0000OOOOO00OO00O000000OO00OG000OO00O00000G> 

I  wonder  why  de  sunshine  's  a-creepin'  about : 
Oh,  des  'caze  de  storm  is  mos'  wo'  out  — 

O  my  soul  !     You  will  be  bole 

For  dar  's  al'a's  dry  land  fer  de  Member's  soul. 


0OOOOO00000000OO 


A    MEETIN'    CHANT 


Y 


"OU,  Hypocrit  ! 

You,  Belzebug  ! 
You  dwellin'  'mong-a  de  swine, 
You  go  'long  to  Glory  wid  yo'  tongue  in  yer  teef 
And  you  leave-a  yo'  hearts-a  behine  ! 

Holy  Warrior  !   Holy  Warrior  ! 
Come  to  tell  you  !   Come  to  tell  you ! 
You  better  start  up  de  incline. 

O  Mourner,  hark ! 
O  Sinner,  turn  ! 
Sech  a  lumberin'  in-a  de  West ! 
Oh,  a  Reason  come  along,  and  he  'low  to  me : 
Dis  ain't  no  time-a  for  to  rest  ! 

Holy  Warrior  !   Holy  Warrior  ! 
Come  to  tell  you  !  Come  to  tell  you  ! 
Dat  de  narrer  way  is  de  best. 

I  22 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

O00OO000000O0OOOOO0G0O00000000000000eOOOGO©OOOO0000000OO0O00©GOO0O 

Let  yo'  gun  be  prime  ! 
Let  yo'  sword  be  fine  ! 
And  you  '11  start  out  to  fight  de  devil. 
You  '11  find  him-a  ready  and-a  waitin'  sho  — 
He  mo'  'n  apt  meet  you  wid  a  shevil  ! 

Holy  Warrior  !   Holy  Warrior  ! 
Come  to  tell  you  !   Come  to  tell  you  ! 
Dat  de  road  to  hell  is  level. 

©00000000000000© 

WHO    BUILT    THE    ARK? 


w 


HO  built  de  ark? 
Norah  !   Norah ! 
Who  built  de  ark  ? 

Norah!   Oh, 

Norah  built  de  Ark  on  de  highest  hill. 
O  Sinner-man  !   Whar  you  gwine  buil'  ? 

Who  'lee'  de  beas'  ? 

Norah !   Norah  ! 
Who  kept  de  peace  ? 

Norah!   Oh, 

Norah  built  de  Ark  on  de  dryes'  Ian'  — 
And  de  Sinner  he  'low  :   "  What  a  foolish  man  !  " 
123 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

GOO00O0OOGO0O0O0O000O0000000OOOQ0O00OGG0OOO00O0OOO0G0O0Q00GOG0000O 

Who  snare  de  birds  ? 

Norah  !    Norah  ! 
Who  druve  de  herds  ? 

Norah!  Oh, 

Water  in  de  Eas'  !   Water  in  de  Wes'  ! 
Water  make  de  worl'  a  Wilderness  ! 

Who  cotch  de  snakes  ? 

Norah  !    Norah  ! 
In  de  cane-brakes  — 

Norah!  Oh, 

Norah  receive  de  rainbow  sign  : 
No  mo'  water,  but  fire  nex'  time. 

©000000000000000 

SONG    OF    THE    SEEKER 

SOMETIMES  I  'm  up  ;  sometimes  I  'm  down; 
Trouble  done  bore  me  down  — 
But  faith  is  sure,  and  faith  is  sound, 
And  to  de  Land  of  faith  I  'm  bound: 
Wake  up,  Jacob  ! 

Wake  up,  John  ! 
Sinner-man,  don't  you 
Sleep  too  long. 
124 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

0GGGGG0000000O0GGGGGGG00000000000000000O00OO00000000O0000000000000 

De  hill  of  doubt  is  hard  to  climb, 
But  all  de  years  is  full  of  time. 
And  truth  's  de  traces  tight  and  prime 
To  pull  us  out  de  mud  and  slime : 
Wake  up,  Member  ! 

Wake  up,  All ! 
Sinner-man,  don't  you 
Hear  de  call  ? 

De  Member's  chariot  is  four-wheel : 

Wheel,  Tentance  hit  will  never  creel, 
Wheels,  Prayer  and  Praise  '11  never  yiel', 
Wheels,  Pleadin'  Terms  is  strong  to  feel. 
Chariot  strong, 
Chariot  long 

Sinner-man,  come!  —  whar 
You  belong. 

Ef  Hope  and  Love  together  '11  hoi', 

Dey  '11  make  a  strong  breas'-yoke  and  pole, 
To  pull  'long  to'ard  de  streets  of  gole, 
Char'ty  's  de  reins  —  pull  on  'em  bole  : 
Come  den.      Git  in  ! 

Git  in,  now  ! 
Sinner-man,  you  bes' 
Be  quick,  I  'low. 
125 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©00000©Q0©O©O©O000O00O000O©000000000O00OGOOOOOO0O0O0OOG©OOG©G0eO00 

A   SPIRITUELLE 

OOMETIMES  I  'm  up;  sometimes  I  'm  down  — 
^      Almost  level  wid  de  solid  groun'  : 
For  I  think  I  hear  de  wheel  of  time, 
Dat  's  hot  wid  sand  and  cole  wid  rime  — 

All  round  my  bed  a-turnin', 
All  round  me  daylight  's  burnin'. 
All  round  my  bed  I  hear  dem  angels  singin' ; 
All  round  my  bed  I  hear  dem  charmin'  bells  a-ringin'. 
Sing,  angels,  sing  ! 
Ring,  bells,  ring ! 
Don't  I  hear  dem  bells  a-ringin'  ? 

Oh,  let  me  get  on  de  bright  star-crown  ! 
Oh,  let  me  lay  de  sinner-load  down  ! 
For  I  think  I  hear  white  horses'  feet 
Slippin'  and  slidin'  on  de  gol'en  street  — 

All  round  my  bed  a-turnin', 
All  round  me  daylight 's  burnin'. 
All  round  my  bed  I  hear  dem  angels  singin'  ; 
AD  round  my  bed  I  hear  dem  charmin'  bells  a-ringin'. 
Sing,  angels,  sing  ! 
Ring,  bells,  ring  ! 
Yas,  I  hear  dem  angels  singin'  ! 
126 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

©00000O000000O0000O0000O00O0000000000O0000O000000O0000O00000000000 


o 


A    HYMN    CHUNE 

H,  two  white  bosses  stand-in'  side  and  side, 
Me  and  Massa  Gab'iel  gwine  for  to  ride  ! 
Hallelujah!   Hallelujah! 
Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 


I  went  to  de  Meeting  I  did  n't  go  to  stay, 
But  I  got  so  happy  dat  I  stayed  all  day  ! 

Hallelujah  !   Hallelujah  ! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

Oh,  a  contrite  mind  and  a  hick'ry-nut  heart 

Ef  you  want  to  go  to  Glory  —  why  don't  you  start? 

Hallelujah!   Hallelujah! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

Ef  you  go  to  Sister  Mary's  house  talk  about  me 

Ef  you  go  to  Sister  Martha's  house  don't  call  my  name, 

Hallelujah  !   Hallelujah  ! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

Oh,  de  white  chillen  has  dere  heaven  down  heah, 
But  de  niggers  hatter  wait  fer  dere's  up  Dar ! 

Hallelujah!   Hallelujah! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

127 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

O0000000000O0000000O0000000O00000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Oh,  de  golden  slippers,  and  de  gold  wais'-band  — 
Ev'ything  in  Glory  so  golden  and  grand  ! 

Hallelujah  !   Hallelujah  ! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

Oh,  twenty-three  balls  round  de  Elders'  throne 
And  dere  heads  all 's  white  as  de  marble-stone  ! 

Hallelujah  !  Hallelujah  ! 

Sittin'  by  de  side  of  de  Lamb. 

©000O00000O00000 

MEMBERS'    HYMN 

OH,  when  I  was  a  sinner 
I  run  my  race  so  well 

I  soon  come  to  find  out  I  was  hangin'  over  hell, 
I  was  hangin'  over  hell, 
I  seed  hit's  fires  well  ! 

Oh,  I  was  bound  to  go  right  down 
Onless  I  turn  right  aroun' 

Onless    I    put   on   de    lily   white   robe    and    fasten   on   de 
crown  — 

And  fasten  on  de  crown  — 
Yas,  I  turn  so  swif  aroun'  ! 
128 


•//  > 


T  WENT  to  de  Meeting  I  did  n't  go  to  stay ; 
But  I  got  so  happy  I  stayed  all  day. 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

©000000000000000000000000000000000000O0000000000O00000000000000000 

Oh,  de  mornin'  star  so  high  ! 
But  I  '11  ride  on  it  by-m-bye, 
When  I  git  whar  I  '11  no  mo'  die  — 

Dar  whar  I  '11  no  mo'  die, 

When  I  git  dar  by-m-bye ! 

Oh,  us  is  left  de  sinner-seat; 

Us  stand  firm  on  Zion's  beat, 

When  de  meetin'  day  come  us  '11  all  gather  roun', 
Us  '11  all  gather  roun', 
Us  '11  all  have  a  gol'en  crown. 

Oh,  spit  de  cup  er  damnation  ! 

Oh,  take  up  de  cup  er  salvation  ! 

Fer  you  don't  want  be  found  in  de  Open  Fiel'  — 

Don't  want  be  found  in  de  Open  Fiel' 
When  you  cotch  sound  of  de  chariot  wheel ! 

Oh,  leave  de  sinner-seat  now, 

Oh,  jine  in  de  Members'  Row, 

Fer  de  Members'  way  is  de  best  way  to  go  — 
De  ve'y  best  way  to  go  — 
Is  clost  to  de  Members'  Row  ! 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

O0O0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000O0000000 

HYMN    OF    REJOICING 

T     OOK-a-yonder  !  Look-a-yonder! 

-^^     Bar's  all  of  de  chillen  right  size  and  numberin' 

Oh,  in  de  Eas'  sech  a  noise  and  a  lumberin'  — 

Moses  strike  de  rock  and  dey  all  pass  under. 

My  Soul !  dat  dangerous  thunder  ! 

I  'm  standin'  !  standin'  ! 
Standin'  in  de  shoes  of  John! 

Look-a-yonder  !   Look-a-yonder  ! 
Dar's  Pharaoh's  chillen  all  runnin'  and  hollerin'; 
All  Egypt's  land  is  a-fleein'  and  a-follerin'. 
Moses  raised  his  hand  and  de  elements  thunder, 
Pharaoh  and  his  men  were  kivered  under  — 

I  'm  standin'  !  standin'  ! 
Standin'  in  de  shoes  of  John  ! 

Look-a-yonder !   Look-a-yonder  ! 

Dar's  ole  Satan  at  de  gate  er  Torment, 

And  yonder 's  Heaven  des  crost  and  forment ; 

Satan  reach  for  sinners  wid  a  pitch-fork  prong ; 

Gab'iel  call  de  Members :  Come  along !  Come  along ! 

I'm  standin'  !  standin'  ! 
Standin'  in  de  shoes  of  John  ! 
132 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 

Look-a-yonder !   Look-a-yonder  ! 
Bar's  de  wheel  er  fire  des  whirlin'  and  twirling 
And  ole  Satan  on  hit,  him  wheelin'  and  whirlin'. 
Ole  Satan  !   I  hear  you  clankin'  dat  chain, 
But  you  no  need  to  make  a  grab  at  me  again 

I  'm  standin'  !  standin'  ! 
Standin'  in  de  shoes  of  John  ! 

Look-a-yonder  !   Look-a-yonder ! 

Dar  's  many  a  sinner,  when  de  day  comes  nigh, 

Dat '11  wish  he  'd  helt  Heaven  when  Heaven  was  by  ; 

For  as  Daniwell  was  safe  in  de  lions'  den 

Oh,  des  dat  safe  is  de  Member  when 

A-Standin'  !  Standin'  ! 
Standin'  in  de  shoes  of  John  ! 

©0O00O000000O00O 

WHO'LL    BE    READY? 

\T7HO  'LL  be  ready  when  de  Bridegroom  come? 

Who  '11  be  happy  and  who  '11  be  glum  ? 
Jorden  river  so  chilly  and  cole, 
Oh,  dat  water  so  swimmin'  and  swole! 
Dem  whar  '11  swim  it  is  obleeged  to  swum 
Des  a-fo'  de  Angel  '11  beat  on  de  drum  ! 
Yas  !  O  my  Soul  !   Dem  waters  roll  — 
Who  '11  be  ready  ? 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©0OGXIXD0O0©©O0000O0©©Q^ 

Who  '11  be  ready  when  de  song's  begun  ? 
Who  '11  be  singin'  and  who  '11  be  dumb  ? 
Oh,  dem  Members  a-wearin'  of  gole 
Safe  acrost  de  shaller  and  safe  acrost  de  shoal, 
Whar  de  gracious  tree  grows  free  and  firm, 
Whar  de  blessed  welcome  rises  from, 
For  de  righteous  few  and  de  righteous  some. 
Yas !  O  my  Soul!   Dem  bells  do  toll  — 
Who'll  be  ready? 

Who  '11  be  ready  when  de  body's  numb  ? 
Who  '11  be  shoutin'  and  who  '11  be  mum  ? 
Oh,  de  Member  he  '11  be  bole 
And  de  Seeker  will  take  good  hoi'  — 
Dey  '11  be  ready  ! 

OO0G0G00O0OGOO0O 

HYMN    OF   THE   WINDS 

'S  war  in  de  worl',  O  my  brothers, 
For  hear  how  dem  brief  winds  arise; 
Yas.      De  winds  lift  dey  voice,  my  brothers, 
Wid  de  breaf  er  dem  what  dies  ! 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
And  rock  de  Death-river's  tide. 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
Dat  river  is  long  and  wide. 
134 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

GXD00000000030303330000O0000000O00000O000000000000000000O000000000O 

Dar  's  many  a  soul  passin'  on,  sisters, 
For  watch  how  dem  white  clouds  pass  by  ; 
Dar  's  many  a  soul  passes,  sisters, 
When  de  clouds  slip  fast  and  high. 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
And  rock  de  Death-river's  tide. 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
Dat  river  is  deep  and  wide. 

Dar  's  war  in  de  worl',  O  Elders, 

Brief  reverend  winds  arise  ! 
Dar  's  war  in  de  worl',  O  Elders 

And  dar  's  tears  in  de  wori's  eyes  — 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
And  rock  de  Death-river's  tide. 

Roll,  winds,  roll, 
Dat  river  is  heavy  and  wide. 

0O0000000000000O 

SONG   OF   THE    SEA 

T~"\E  Lord  He  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart 
**^      Because  he  would  not  bow  ; 
His  heart  was  hard  as  hick'ry  wood 
Pitched  and  tarred,  I  'low  ! 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©000000000000000000000000000000O000000000000000000O0O00000000000©© 

De  Lord  did  harden  Pharaoh's  heart  — 

Ole  Pharaoh  got  a  los'  den  ! 
Oh,  watch  him  how  he  led  his  host 

And  tried  to  git  across  den  ! 

De  Lord  made  good  ole  Moses'  heart 

Des  as  sof  as  wax  is  — 
I  'low  dat  Mercy  's  in  it  fas', 

Tight  as  new  wove  flax  is  ! 

De  Lord  made  Moses  meek  and  true, 

And  let  him  come  across  ; 
Let  him  smote  his  rod  and  pass  along 

And  would  not  let  him  git  los'  ! 

Come  across  ! 
Come  across  ! 
Come  across,  Moses,  now  ! 

Moses'  knee  was  soon  to  bow. 
Den  come  across  ! 
Den  come  across  ! 
Dar  ain't  no  danger  gittin'  los'  — 
Gittin'  los', 
Gittin'  los'. 

Dar  ain't  no  danger  gittin'  los'  den, 
When  de  waters  roll  back  —  how  and  when, 
And  left  dry  land  for  de  Member-men. 
136 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

000000000O0000000000000O0O000000000000000000O0000O000O0000000©©©©© 

THE    WORLD'S    HYMN 

'The  Plantation  Dies  /r^,  Dies  Ilia 
H,  in  dat  awful  day 

De  moon  in  blood  '11  drip  away, 
Wile  winds  will  arise, 
Rise  wid  breaf  of  all  dat  dies. 


o 


What  will  de  Sinner-man  do  dat  Day  ? 

He  will  go  to  his  home  to  be  driven  away  — 

Driven  away  ! 

Driven  away  ! 

Skies  gittin'  grey  wid  gloom  : 
John  takes  his  shinin'  broom  — 
John  sweeps  hit  far  and  nigh, 
Sweeps  de  stars  from  out  de  sky. 

What  will  de  Elder-man  do  dat  Day? 

He  will  go  to  his  home  and  dey  '11  ax  him  to  stay 

Ax  him  to  stay  ! 

Ax  him  to  stay  ! 

In  dat  one  hour  Day 
Oceans  '11  bile  away; 
Birds  '11  forgit  to  fly 
All  livin'  'bleeged  to  die. 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0000000OO0O0000OOOO00O0GG00G0000OO0O0OO0OO0G00OOGGGOO00OO0000000O0 

What  will  de  Hypocrit  do  dat  Day? 

He  will  knock  at  de  do'  and  be  driven  away  — 

Driven  away  ! 

Driven  away  ! 

Dat  Day  what  '11  light  de  sky  ? 
De  sun  '11  rise  des  one  hour  high, 
Den  down  dat  sun  will  fall  — 
Come  in,  Seekers  !     Come  in  all ! 

What  will  de  Church-Leader  do  dat  Day  ? 

He  will  tap  at  de  do'  and  dey  '11  ax  him  to  stay  — 

Ax  him  to  stay  ! 

Ax  him  to  stay  ! 

Den  when  de  Archangel  sing 
He  '11  hide  his  face  behin'  his  wing; 
Prayers  '11  roll  from  sho'  to  sho' 
And  Praise  '11  rise  ter  set  no  mo'. 

Sinner  and  Hypocrit  *fo   dat  Day, 
Can't  you  come  in  and  plead  to  stay  — 

Plead  to  stay  ? 

Plead  to  stay  ? 


138 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

0000OOOOOO0G00OGOOGOO0G000G00O000GGG0GOGGG0GOOG0GQQOGOGG00000GGOO© 

HYMN    OF    SAFETY 


'  tree  in  Paradise, 
Members  call  it  Tree  of  Life  — 
Safe  from  sorrer  and  from  strife, 
Safe  from  sin,  and  safe  fer  Life  ! 

Satan  sought  my  sorrer  out, 
Knocked  my  soul  around  about  ; 
Satan  aimed  a  ball  at  me, 
Hit  my  sin,  but  I  went  free  ! 

If  a  Hypocrit  is  nigh  me, 
Des  don't  let  him  spy  me  ! 
And  why  not  Satan,  too  — 
If  he  don't  aim  too  true? 

My  soul  's  as  light  as  leaven  is 
I  'm  risin'  up  whar  heaven  is. 
I  knock  at  de  gate,  I  do  ; 
I  will  knock  twel  dey  let  me  th'oo  ! 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

OOO0OOOG0O0OOGGO0OQOO0QOOOGG0OGGOOGGOG0OOGOGOGGQGGG0OOO0OGOGG00OG^ 

HYMN    OF    FREEDOM 

,  de  elements  open 

And  de  love  come  down 
Shine  so  bright,  shine  all  aroun'  ! 
I  '11  out  from  Egypt  on  de  furder  shore, 
I  '11  out  from  Egypt,  and  I  '11  'turn  no  more  ! 
Oh,  rock-a  my  soul  in  de  weary  Ian'  — 
Moses  say  Pharaoh's  a  mighty  bad  man  ! 

0  you,  Chillen  of  Is'iael, 
Does  you  un'erstan' 

How  Moses  kilt  a  Egypchan 
And  buried  dat  man  in  Egypt  Ian' 
Diggin'  a  hole  in  Egypt  san'  P  — 
Oh,  rock-a  my  soul  in  de  weary  Ian' ; 
Dat  's  what  he  done  to  de  Egypt  man  ! 

Oh,  rough  rocky  road 

1  mos'  done  trabblin'. 

Hypocrit,  stop  yo'  tell-tale  babblin'  ; 
I  'm  tired  er  trabblin'  in  de  Wilderness  — 
Rain  in  de  mornin',  in  de  evenin'  res'. 
Oh,  rock-a  my  soul  in  de  weary  Ian' 
De  trumpet  is  sound  !      And  de  march  is  began  ! 
140 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

©0OG00Q0G000OGO000OOGOO0©00OO©00O0OO©000QOG0O0O©0OGOOGG(^OGOGGG0G0 

Carry  my  soul  up  yonder  ! 
Carry  my  soul  up  yonder  ! 

Yas  !   My  soul  ! 
Um  —  m  —  m  —  m  — 
M  —  m  —  m  — 
M  — m  - 
M- 

0O0000OOO00000O0 

THE    MOURNER'S    HYMN 

IACKNOLEDGE  I  did  wrong, 
I  stayed  in  de  wilderness  mos'  too  long ; 
But  I  '11  sign  my  hand  to  de  Gospel  plow, 
And  I  '11  take  my  start  to  Glory  now, 

Plough  dis  furrough  to  Heaven's  door, 
I  ain't  gwine  loose  dis  plow  no  more. 

I  acknoledge  I  did  wrong, 

But  now  I  'm  gwine  whar  I  belong; 

For  I  '11  lay  my  hand  on  de  Christian  hoe, 

And  I  ain't  gwine  let  no  meanness  grow  — 
Hoe  dis  row  to  Heaven's  door, 
I  ain't  gwine  loose  dis  hoe  no  more. 
141 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

©©00000O000000000000000000000033300000000000000000000000000003Q3QO 

I  acknoledge  I  did  wrong, 

Onct  I  was  singin'  a  banjo  song ; 

But  I  '11  fill  my  hand  wid  de  Gospel  seed, 

And  I  '11  sow  so  thick  dat  I  '11  choke  de  weed  — 
Sow  de  seed  to  Heaven's  door 
I  ain't  gwine  cease  dese  seed  to  sow. 

I  acknoledge  I  did  wrong, 

I  stayed  in  de  sinner-seat  mos'  too  long  ; 

But  I  '11  take  my  fork  in  harvest-time, 

And  I  '11  fling  my  sins  afur  behine. 

I  '11  fork  and  pitch  to  Heaven's  door, 
And  when  I  git  dar  I  '11  work  no  more. 
Hallelujah  ! 


000O0O00O0000O00 


THE    SOMEDAY    HYMN 

TT  THEN  Abel  lives  again 

Color '11  quit  dese  sons  of  Cain. 

We  '11  all  be  free  from  sorrer  and  pain  — 
In  dat  day  !     In  dat  day  ! 

When  Gab'iel  read  dat  day, 
When  de  worl'  git  wrinkle'  and  grey, 
Ef  yer  can't  read  yer  name  dey  '11  sen'  you  'way 
In  dat  day!     In  dat  day  ! 
142 


T  ACKNOWLEDGE  I  did  wrong, 
I  stayed  in  de  wilderness  mos'  too  long  — 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

00000000000000000G000000000000000000000000000000G0000G000O0O000000 

But  de  Member  '11  read  dat  day 
Name  so  plain  he  might  and  may 
Find  and  read  it  out  loud  —  and  stay  — 
In  dat  day  !      In  dat  day  ! 

You  better  be  lookin'  fer  dat  day, 
Close  in  de  narrer-road  you  stay, 
Den  you  '11  be  safe  —  an'  de  y'other  folks  may  — 
In  dat  day  !      In  dat  day  ! 

00000O00O0000000 

THE    ENDLESS    CHANT 

DE  big  bell  done  rung 
Dat  bigges'  big  one  — 
De  pretties'  thing  my  sister  done 
Was  serve  de  Lord  when  she  was  young  — 

Live  humble  ! 
De  table  is  set 
De  Member  can  feas', 
He  need  not  to  cease. 

Live  humble  ! 
De  big  room  is  swept, 
De  big  chair  is  kept 
Ready  'ginst  de  Leader-man  come 
Come  hurryin'  home  — 

Live  humble  ! 

10  145 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

00000000G000000000000000000G00000000000G00000000000000000000000000 

De  long  seam  is  sewed. 
Come,  git  in  de  road, 
Fer  de  bells  do  ring 
And  de  Elders  sing  — 
Live  humble  ! 

00000O0000O00000 

HYMN    OF    TIME 

earth  is  a  shuttle,  my  brothers, 
Around  which  Time  's  twisted  and  twirl 
It's  wropped  in  a  many  a  lap,  brothers, 
Wropped  round  de  rollin'  old  worl'. 

Den  reel  me  a  day  from  de  grave, 
Des  reel  me  off  time  to  be  save  ; 
For  de  thread  is  cut  short,  O  brothers, 
When  we  retch  ole  Jo.rden's  wave. 

Ah,  dese  is  de  laps  er  Time,  Elders, 
Bar's  many  a  day  in  de  skein  — 
Ah,  don't  let  it  be  cut  short,  Elders, 
Fer  hit  can't  be  spliced  again. 

Den  reel  me  a  day  from  de  grave, 
Des  reel  me  off  time  to  be  save  ; 
For  de  thread  is  snap  close,  O  Elders, 
When  we  tetch  on  Jorden's  wave. 
146 


^T,   come  quit  de  Open  FieF : 
For  you  ''re  walk  in    on  borrowed  ground. 


HYMNS    OF    THE    BLACK    BELT 

000000O0OO000OOOO000000000000000GG0OOGO000OOO0O00OO0000O000O0O0OGG 

Oh,  de  sun  is  a  spinnin'-wheel,  sisters, 

Hit  spins  off  our  thread  of  time  ; 
And  dat  is  a  brittle  thread,  sisters, 
Hit 's  longes'  lengt'  lies  behine. 

Den  reel  me  a  day  from  de  grave, 

Des  reel  me  off  time  to  be  save  ; 

For  de  thread  is  broke  loose,  O  sisters, 

When  we  retch  ole  Jorden's  wave. 

Yas,  time  is  a  golden  thread,  Members 

When  hit's  spun  from  de  wheel  of  de  sun, 
And  de  rollin'  ole  sun  '11  stand  still,  Members 
When  de  stint  er  time  is  done. 

Den  reel  me  a  day  from  de  grave, 
Des  reel  me  off  time  to  be  save ; 
For  de  thread  's  broke  loose,  O  Members, 
When  we  tetch  ole  Jorden's  wave. 

Oh,  dis  worl'  is  a  bobbin,  O  seekers, 
Whar  de  threads  of  time  are  wrop 
When  de  bobbin  is  full,  O  Seekers, 
Bobbin  and  cards  will  drop. 

Den  reel  me  a  day  from  de  grave, 
Des  reel  me  off  time  to  be  save  ; 
For  de  thread  is  cut  short,  O  Seekers 
When  we  retch  ole  Jorden's  wave. 
149 


PLANTATION    SONGS 

0OOOO00O000000000000G00GG000OOOOOOOOOOOO0OOOOOO00O0000Q0Q0OO0G0000 

THE    HAPPY    HYMN 

OH,  come  quit  de  Open  Fiel'  : 
For  you  're  walkin'  on  borrowed  ground. 
You  are  out  on  a  barren  land, 
But  you  '11  own  de  land  whar  you  bound, 
When  you  step  in  de  golden  sand  ! 

You  are  wearin'  gyarments  dat  '11  tear, 
And  yo'  cloze  ain't  no  way  grand  — 
But  a  shine-line  robe  you  '11  sholy  wear 
Ef  you  jine  wid  de  member  band  ! 

Den  come  quit  de  Open  Fiel'  : 
Can't  yer  quit  yer  dancin'  a  reel ! 
Won't  yer  catch  hoi'  de  Chariot  wheel  ? 
Won't  yer  come  wid  de  Seekers,  and  kneel 

Come  !     Now  ! 
Quit  de  Open  Fiel'  - 
Yas,  my  Soul,  yas  ! 

Come  !     Come  !     Come  ! 
Home  !     Home  !     Home  ! 


150 


